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No. 80 25 Cts. 



Copyright, 1885, Tttxtt:' IQ 1 QQA Subscription Price 

by HAaFEPv& Brothers tiUiSlij J- iOOU per Year, 52 Numbers, $15 


Entered at the Post-Office at New York, as Second-class Mail flatter 

HER OWN DOING 



By 'WV Ei»iNOREIS 

AUTHOR OF “matrimony” “ADRIAN VIDAL ” “ THIRLBY HALL ” 

“heaps of money” etc. " 


Books you may hold readily in your hand are the most useful, after all 

Dr. Johnson 


NEW YORK 

HARPER A BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 

1886 





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HER OWN DOING. 


CHAPTER I. • 

Whether it is a recommendation or a drawback 
to a health resort that all the world is to be met 
with there is, of course, a question of individual 
taste. The majority declare it to be the latter, while 
their conduct would seem to show that they consider 
it to be the former — a kind of inconsistency not un- 
common among majorities, political and other. One 
fine February afternoon a gentleman who professed 
the sentiments of the majority from sincere convic- 
tion was walking slowly along the sunny road which 
borders the sea at Cannes. He had arrived only the 
night before, and during the quarter of an hour 
which had elapsed since he had emerged from his 
hotel he had already encountered some half-dozen 
acquaintances. A man must be poor indeed in ac- 
quaintances to be in that place at that season of the 
year without encountering them in overwhelming 
1 


HER OWN DOING. 


numbers, and Captain Brooke, whose acquaintance 
was a tolerably large one, should have been prepared 
for the shakes of the hand and the friendly greet- 
ings which arrested him at every other step. Pos- 
sibly he was so prepared ; but that he was not grati- 
fied was made evident by the bored and irritated ex- 
pression of his handsome young face, the slight 
frown upon his forehead, and the brief and perfunc- 
tory fashion in which he responded to the queries 
addressed to him. He was, in fact, preoccupied with 
thoughts of his own, and did not want to enter into 
conversation with these good people. Besides, each 
and all of them said exactly the same things in al- 
most exactly the same words — which would have 
been provoking under any circumstances. “ Hullo, 
Brooke ! Back from Egypt ? Awfully sorrj’’ to 
hear of your being knocked over. Hot much the 
worse, 1 hope ? Come here to recruit, I suppose.” 
And then they asked him whether he was going to 
Mrs. Somebody’s dance that night, and he replied 
that he was not ; after which their stock of subjects 
appeared to be exhausted, and they passed on, with 
an encouraging murmur of “ See you again soon.” 

“ See me again soon !” growled this ungrateful 
young man; “I should rather think they would 1 
How is one to help being seen in such a nutshell 


HER OWN DOING. 


3 


of a place? It’s a hundred times worse than the 
Park !” 

He seated himself on a bench, with his back tow- 
ards the promenaders and his face towards the blue 
sea and the beautiful Esterelles Islands, at which he 
did not look. It seemed, indeed, that he cared to 
look at nothing except his watch, which he consulted 
about every five minutes, and restored to his pocket 
as often with an im|5^tient sigh. Half-hours, when 
counted after this fashion, contain a vastly greater 
number of minutes than the thirty of which they 
consist according to the reckoning of Cocker, and if 
Captain Brooke had not been a man of much quiet 
resolution he must have quitted his post long before 
four o’clock. He had, however, decided in his own 
mind that between four and five would be the proper 
time for paying a visit which he contemplated, and 
it was not until the clocks in the town began to 
strike the former hour that he jumped up with alac- 
rity and, hailing a passing voiture de place, asked 
the driver whether he knew the Villa des Chatai- 
gniers. 

Si je la connaisr ailswered the man somewhat 
disdainfully ; for indeed the villa in question is one 
of the largest of the seven hundred, more or less, 
which have sprung up around the little town dis- 


4 


HER OWN DOING. 


covered Lord Brougham scarcely half a century 
ago. 

“ Then allez there as quick as you can,” returned 
the Englishman, whose knowledge of foreign lan- 
guages was limited, and who had never been able to 
see what was to be gained by increasing it. 

A short and somewhat steep drive brought him 
to his destination, an imposing edifice, standing in 
the midst of what, for Cannes, might be called ex- 
tensive grounds. The sloping garden was prettily 
laid out, and gay with a profusion of roses and other 
flowers ; the drive was bordered by rare and costly 
shrubs, and it was plain that the tenant of this de- 
sirable property must be not only a rich, but a very 
rich, person. A butler and two footmen came to the 
door to say that Mrs. Lindsay was not at home ; at 
which announcement Captain Brooke tried hard not 
to look disgusted, and completely failed. He hand- 
ed in his card, dismissed his carriage, and walked 
slowly down the drive with his hands behind his 
back, and the frown, on his brow a trifle more pro- 
nounced than it had been before. But just as he 
was turning out at the gate a pattering of feet be- 
hind him caused him to glance over his shoulder, 
and presently he was overtaken by a breathless foot 
man, who said ; 


HER OWN DOING. 


6 


.“I beg your pardon, sir; it is not Mrs. Lindsay’s 
day, but she will see you, if you will please to come 
back.” 

Captain Brooke was very much pleased to turn 
back, and was not more successful in disguising his 
pleasure than he had been in concealing the con- 
trary emotion a few minutes earlier. Persevering 
effort, however, is sure to be crowned with success 
in the long run, and by the time that he had been 
conducted across a cool, marble-flagged hall into a 
long drawing-room, darkened by sun-blinds, and fur- 
nished with a happy combination of luxury and good 
taste, he had managed to make himself look as dull 
and blank as he could possibly have desired. 

The lady who rose to shake hands with him wore, 
on the contrary, an expression of pleased surprise. 
“ How nice of you to And me out so soon, Arthur !” 
she said, in a low, musical voice. “ When did you 
arrive ?” 

Mrs. Lindsay was hardly what could be called a 
pretty woman ; but that did not prevent her from 
being very much and very generally admired. Her 
large brown eyes, which were at the same time soft 
and brilliant, and were shaded by long, curved lashes, 
constituted, perhaps, her only strict claim to beauty ; 
but she had a slight, graceful figure, her hands and 


6 


HER OWN DOING. 


feet were remarkably well-shaped, and her taste Jn 
dress was perfect. With such advantages no woman 
can be considered plain, and in addition to them, 
Mrs. Lindsay possessed one of those faces which fas- 
cinate by their constant change of expression. It 
was a face rather lovable than beautiful, rather sen- 
sitive than intellectual ; a face which grew upon you 
as you looked at it, and which was always pleasant 
to look upon. Captain Brooke appeared to find it 
so; for, instead of replying to the question put to 
him, he stood gazing silently at his questioner, until 
she lowered her eyes, while a faint tinge of color 
came into her cheeks. 

Won’t you sit down,” she said, “ and tell me 
what you have been doing all this long time ? How 
long is it since we met, Arthur ?” 

Four years,” answered Captain Brooke, briefiy. 

She gave a little sigh. “ It seems more, doesn’t 
it ? That is, it does to me, because so many things 
have happened to me in these four years. And to 
you too, I suppose ? One doesn’t live through four 
years without adventures of one kind or another. 
Please give me an account of them all.” 

“ I am sorry,” replied the young man, with a cer- 
tain veiled bitterness of intonation, “ that I can’t 
oblige you. I have had no adventures, and nothing 


HER OWN DOING. 


1 


has happened to me but what you know of. I was 
ordered off to India just before your marriage, as 
you are aware, and, as you are also aware, I re- 
mained there until the other day, when I was sent to 
Suakin and hit by one of those fellowV slugs. Then 
I went home, invalided ; and then the doctors de- 
spatched me to the South of France — why, I don’t 
quite know. That’s all.” 

“ Did it hurt very juuch ?” inquired Mrs. Lindsay, 
with a slight shudder. ‘‘ The slug, I mean.” 

“Well, it did rather; at least, the getting it out 
did. But that is all over now, and it wasn’t exactly 
to be called an adventure. Your experiences have 
been more exciting, perhaps.” 

Mrs. Lindsay looked a trifle hurt. “ I do not think 
exciting is quite the word,” she said. 

“ But what have they been ? It would be a great 
deal more to the purpose if you were to tell me a 
little about what your life has been, and is ; because 
you know pretty well the sort of uninteresting ex- 
istence that I have led, and I know nothing of 
yours.” 

“ I thought Mrs.Yane wrote you long letters, and 
kept you posted in all the doings of your friends 
at home.” 

“ She has been kind enough to write to me some- 


8 


HER OWN DOING. 


times, and it was she who told me that I should 
find you at Cannes ; but I can’t say that her letters 
are very long, or that they contain precisely the 
information that one would like to have. Perhaps 
that isn’t her fault, though.” 

‘‘I don’t know what is the information that you 
would like to have about my life,” said Mrs. Lind- 
say, smiling. “ It is rather a useless one. I’m afraid. 
When I am in England, I spend my time between 
London and Shropshire, and I believe I shall spend 
the winters abroad in future, because I am by way 
of being delicate; though there is nothing really 
the matter with me, except a rather slow circula- 
tion. I bought this villa a few months ago. It is 
pretty, isn’t it?” 

“Very. I suppose you go into society a great 
deal, and see lots of people, and all that.” 

‘‘ I haven’t begun to do so yet. In a few years, 
when Yiolet is old enough to come out, I shall have 
to begin, no doubt. You know that Yiolet has 
been living with me since Granny died?” 

“Yes; that was one of the things that I heard 
from Mrs. Yane. And how is my old friend, Yio- 
let ? Growing up as pretty as she promised to be ?” 

“I will call her,” answered Mrs. Lindsay, “and 
then you will be able to answer for yourself.” 


HER OWN DOING. 


9 


She rose, and passed quickly through the adjoin- 
ing conservatory into the garden, whence she re- 
turned in a few minutes, bringing with her a girl 
of fifteen, whose features bore a family resemblance 
to her own, though they were decidedly more reg- 
ular, and who, even at that awkward age, had the 
erect carriage and ease of movement for which the 
Brookes have always been famed. This young 
lady held a fox-terrier under her arm. She walked 
straight up to the new-comer, extended her hand 
to him, and said : 

“How do you do, Arthur? I am glad to hear 
that you haven’t forgotten me. Snap, this is your 
cousin Arthur; give him a paw.” 

Snap at once did as he was told; whereat his 
mistress nodded approvingly. “He is full of in- 
telligence,” she remarked; “he saw at a glance 
that you were all right.” 

“ I feel very much flattered,” said Captain Brooke, 
laughing. 

“Well, you ought to be. It isn’t with everybody 
that Snap will make friends on a first introduction, I 
can tell you ; and at any one whom he really distrusts, 
he always shows his teeth. Hot rudely, you know, 
but just as a hint that he doesn’t mean to stand 
familiarity. He showed his teeth at Mr. Staunton.” 


10 


HER OWN DOING. 


And who is that unfortunate man 

‘‘ Oh, a friend of Beatrice’s. Snap and I don’t 
think much of him, do we. Snap? Are you going 
to stay here long, Arthur? You look ever so much 
older, do you know?” 

“ So do you,” returned Captain Brooke ; “ but I 
am afraid you are not yet of an age to mind being 
told that. You haven’t outgrown your habit of 
engaging candor, I observe.” 

The girl’s presence had the effect of setting both 
him and his hostess more at ease than they had been, 
and the conversation now took a somewhat livelier 
turn. In spite of Yiolet’s criticism. Captain Brooke 
looked rather under than over his age, which was 
but six-and-twenty ; although, as a matter of course, 
he no longer resembled the raw subaltern who had 
fallen so desperately in love with his cousin Beatrice 
four years previously, and had been so summarily 
sent to the right-about by old Mrs. Brooke, who 
stood in loco parentis to her orphaned grandchil- 
dren. Mrs. Brooke was, no doubt, a rather worldly 
old lady ; but considerations of the commonest pru- 
dence would have justified her in refusing to hear 
of anything so insane as an engagement between 
Beatrice, whose dowry was only a scanty one, and 
a lad who had not more than five or six hundred a 
year of his own, including his pay. 


HER OWN DOING. 


II 


When, therefore, Arthur sailed for India, he took 
with him the memory of a valedictory address, in 
which he had been cautioned against harboring the 
faintest hope or illusion with regard to his cousin ; 
and, indeed, almost the first news that reached him 
from England was that of Beatrice’s marriage to 
Mr. Lindsay, an invalid of more than double her 
age, whose temper was reported to be as irritable 
as his income was large. That, if true, must have 
meant a very bad temper indeed ; for Mr. Lindsay’s 
wealth was practically boundless. In any case, his 
wife did not have to put up with his temper long. 
At the end of two years he died, and, when his 
will was opened, it was discovered that he had 
made her his sole heiress. 

It will be readily understood that, under such 
circumstances, Arthur felt some elements of em- 
barrassment in the visit which ordinary politeness 
had compelled him to pay. Love is said to be 
blind, and it is quite possible that his feelings, 
which had remained unchanged during the period 
of his exile, may have led him to ignore or extenu- 
ate some of his fair cousin’s defects; but he cer- 
tainly could not credit her with much strength of 
mind. He knew that she had always been unsel- 
fish, sweet-tempered, easily influenced by the judg- 


12 


HER OWN DOING. 


ment of others, and distrustful of her own ; her 
marriage had saddened rather than angered him, 
and, had she not been so very rich, it is likely that 
he would have put himself in communication with 
her once more when she became free. Matters be- 
ing as they were, he had felt it impossible for him 
to do this ; but now, since by mere hazard he was 
at Cannes, it was quite equally impossible that he 
should abstain from calling upon her. 

“Are you doing anything particular this even- 
ing?” she asked him, presently. “Would it bore 
you to come and dine quietly with us ? We shall 
have nobody to meet you.” 

“ Except Mr. Staunton,” said Yiolet. 

“Oh, yes; I forgot I had asked Mr. Staunton. 
Perhaps I may venture to put him forward as an 
extra inducement ; for I am sure you will like him, 
though Violet and Snap don’t. He is very clever 
and very nice.” 

Such a description is scarcely calculated to pre- 
possess even the most unprejudiced person in favor 
of its subject, and it was not in the nature of things 
that Captain Brooke should be wholly unpreju- 
diced. 

“ I shall be delighted to dine with you,” he an- 
swered ; “ but I don’t want any extra inducement, 


HER OWN DOING. 


IS 


whether it goes by the name of Staunton or not 
Who is Mr. Staunton, if one may ask 

‘‘Well — he is Mr. Staunton.” 

“Quite so; and he is clever and he is nice. 
But what besides? Who is he when he is at 
home ?” 

“ The Englishman’s first question about every 
stranger,” remarked Mrs. Lindsay, laughing. “ What 
a thorough John Bull you are, Arthur ! Mr. Staun- 
ton is perfectly respectable. He is a cousin of Lord 
Bellingham’s, if it makes you any easier in your 
mind to know that, and he goes about a great deal 
here, and everybody likes him.” 

“ W ith two notable exceptions, it appears.” 

“Violet is always conceiving strong likes and 
dislikes without any reason ; when she is older she 
will know better. As for Snap, I suspect him of 
taking his cue from his mistress.” 

“Indeed he does no such thing!” cried Violet, 
indignantly. “There never lived a dog of more 
independent mind.” 

“Well,” said Captain Brooke, getting up, “I 
shall endeavor to approach the study of Mr. Staun- 
ton’s character with all Snap’s impartiality, and I’ll 
let ^ou know my opinion of him when I have 
formed one. At least, I’H let y^ou know if it is 


14 


HER OWN DOING, 


favorable. If it isn’t, I had better hold ray tongue, 
perhaps.” 

Perhaps so,” agreed Mrs. Lindsay, with a sraile ; 
‘‘I confess I don’t like to hear ray friends spoken 
against. But I am sure your opinion will be favor- 
able.” 

If Mrs. Lindsay was really as sanguine upon that 
point as she professed to be, her knowledge of hu- 
man nature must have been very defective ; but it 
is more likely that she only meant to convey a 
timely note of warning to the young man. It was 
in that sense that he understood her remark; and 
so, although nothing was further from his intention 
than to make a second offer of marriage to his 
cousin, he became furiously jealous of Mr. Staun- 
ton beforaever setting eyes upon him. 

It may have been this, or it may have been the 
instinctive feeling of aversion, by means of which 
E'ature so often puts us on our guard against a 
potential enemy, that caused him to greet that 
gentleman very stiffly when he was introduced to 
him a few hours later. Arthur Brooke was a 
straightforward and just young fellow, no respecter 
of persons, and always anxious to give the devil his 
due; but then he did not think that much was^due 
to the devil, A very brief examination convinced 


HER OWN DOING. 


16 


him that nothing more than distant civility was due 
to the stranger whom his cousin had assured him 
that he would like. ‘\The man is a cad,” was what 
he said to himself ; and although he might, if cross- 
examined, have found it a little difficult to substan- 
tiate this accusation, he felt no inward doubt what- 
soever as to its justice. 

And yet Mr. Staunton was by no means unre- 
fined either in looks or manners. He was a small, 
well-proportioned, and rather good-looking young 
man, who, at first sight, had the appearance of 
being so young as to be almost a boy, but who, on 
closer inspection in a strong light (Arthur noticed 
a decided preference on his part for standing with 
his back to the light), showed signs of having spent 
a certain number of years in the world — thirty, per- 
haps. He was perfectly smooth-shaven ; his black 
hair and eyebrows contrasted somewhat oddly with 
a fresh complexion and a pair of restless, light-blue 
eyes; his teeth, which he displayed a good deal in 
talking, were white and even. For the rest, his 
evening-clothes were accurate in fit and cut, and he 
comported himself with the easy assurance of one 
accustomed to good society 

“I think you and I are staying in the same ho- 
tel,” he remarked to Captain Brooke. “ I saw your 


16 


HER OWN DOING. 


Dame in the strangers’ book to-day, and I wondered 
whether you could be any relation of Mrs. Lindsay’s. 
You are in the 30th Hussars, aren’t you ?” 

And then he mentioned the names of several offi- 
cers in that regiment whom he said that he knew, 
and inquired how they were getting on. His amica- 
ble overtures meeting with no response, he soon — 
though without apparent annoyance — desisted from 
them, and devoted himself to his hostess, leaving it 
to be inferred that he was quite willing to be upon 
friendly terms with Captain Brooke, but did not 
greatly care whether he was so or not. 

To Mrs. Lindsay, on the other hand, he took evi- 
dent pains to make himself agreeable. Throughout 
dinner it was he who led the conversation, and in 
the course of it he amply justified her encomium 
upon him, so far as cleverness was concerned. As 
for his being nice, that could only depend upon the 
meaning that might be attached to that adjective. 
Arthur Brooke did not think him so, and thought 
him still less so afterwards in the drawing-room, 
when he drew Mrs. Lindsay away to the piano, en- 
treating her to sing song after song, while he bent 
over her, and talked to her in subdued tones be- 
tween times. Then he himself began to sing, in a 
sweet and true, if not very powerful, tenor voice ; 


HER OWN DOING. 


11 


and then, after a rather prolonged search, some 
duets were discovered and tried over. 

Meanwhile Arthur, who was ignorant of music, 
sat apart, watching the couple, and saying to him- 
self that Nice was probably a much more amusing 
place than Cannes. He would move on there, he 
determined, without loss of time. Presently Yiolet 
came and sat down beside him, nursing her dog. 

“ Isn’t he a pig ?” she whispered. 

“Is it the custom ^for young ladies to make use 
of such expressions?” inquired Arthur, without, 
however, looking as much scandalized as he should 
have done. “ I ask because I have been out of Eng- 
land for some years, and I may have dropped behind 
the times.” 

“ It is my custom to call a pig a pig/’ replied Yi- 
olet, serenely. “If you can help me to any worse 
name to call Mr. Staunton by I shall be much obliged 
to you. I suppose you see what he is after?” 

Captain Brooke was very much inclined to fear 
that he did. Also, he was inclined to doubt whether 
it would be right to encourage the confidences of 
this too -precocious child. But, a desire to be in- 
formed of the worst overcoming his scruples, he an- 
swered, “I am not very quick at seeing things. 
What is he after ?” 


2 


18 


HER OWN DOING. 


“ Why, Beatrice, of course,” returned Yiolet, con- 
temptuously. “ Do you mean to say that you 
haven’t discovered that? He has been going on 
like this for the last month ; and I am so thankful 
that you have come, because I know you will help 
me to drive him away. You will, won’t you?” she 
added, beseechingly. 

Arthur did not reply immediately. After a min- 
ute he answered, in slow, measured accents, “I doubt 
whether either you or I have the power to do that, 
Yiolet ; and I’m sure I don’t know what right we 
should have to prevent Beatrice from marrying 
whom she pleased, even if we had the power. Sup- 
posing that this fel — that Mr. Staunton is a suitable 
match for her in point of birth, and — ” 

“ He isn’t a suitable match for her, and she doesn’t 
want to marry him,” interrupted Yiolet. 

Then I presume that she won’t marry him.” 

“ That’s all you know about her ! Beatrice can’t 
refuse anything to anybody, and the more she dis- 
likes giving what she is asked for the more positive 
she is that it is her duty to give it. I believe that 
if you begged for her head, and assured her that 
you really couldn’t get on without it, she would 
ring the bell for a chopper at once. You mustn’t 
let Mr. Staunton ask for what he wants.” 


HER OWN DOING. 


19 


But, my dear Yiolet, how am I to prevent him 

‘‘ I don’t know ; but I know that I would prevent 
him if I were a man. Couldn’t you begin by offer- 
ing him money to go away ?” 

“ I am afraid I could hardly offer him enough,” 
replied Captain Brooke, smiling at the simplicity of 
the suggestion. 

“Well, then, you might find out something dis- 
graceful that he has done, and threaten to expose 
him.' I am sure, by the look of him, he must have 
done lots of disgraceful things.” 

“ Possibly ; but I dou’t quite see my way to find- 
ing them out. Where did you first meet him 

“ Oh, here ; soon after our arrival. I forget who 
introduced him to Beatrice, but he began to make 
up to her the very first day. I knew he would the 
moment that I saw him. They always do.” 

“ Who always do 

“Oh, all sorts of horrid people. Beatrice says 
she would much rather be poor than rich, and so 
would I ; though it would be all right if only she 
would make up her mind never to marry again, or 
else marry somebody really nice, and have done with 
it. Arthur, I wish you would marry her.” 

Captain Brooke was spared the necessity of mak- 
ing any reply to this rather embarrassing speech by 


20 


HER OWN DOING. 


the approach of Mrs. Lindsaj, who perhaps thought 
that she had neglected her cousin too long ; and 
soon afterwards the little party broke up. It was 
inevitable that the two men should walk down to 
their hotel together, arid Mr. Staunton beguiled the 
way by discoursing very agreeably and intelligently 
about the late Egyptian campaign. But he obtained 
little beyond an occasional grunt of assent or dissent 
from his companion, who parted from him at last 
with a curt ‘‘ Good-night,” declining the offer of a 
cigar and a brandy-and-soda in Mr. Staunton’s sit- 
ting-room. 


CHAPTEK II. 

The best and surest method of earning popularity 
is to love your neighbor as yourself. Some few 
people there are in the world who really do seem to 
carry out this precept, if not quite literally, yet as 
approximately as poor human nature will permit; 
and these are universally and deservedly beloved in 
return. But it is possible, as everybody knows, to be 
popular upon other and easier terms. The man who 
can be all things to all men, who knows how to flat- 
ter delicately, and who, if he is bored, is careful never 
to show that he is so, may count with certainty upon 
being both liked and sought after. It is, no doubt, 
probable enough that he will be suspected of being 
more or less of a humbug (for, however much flat- 
tery we may manage to digest on our own score, it 
vexes us to see the same dose administered to and 
complacently swallowed by our fellows); but that 
humbugs are often very pleasant people is not to be 
denied, and the society of Cannes had unanimously 
pronounced Mr. Staunton to be a pleasant person. 


22 


HER OWN DOING. 


Arthur Brooke, who met him pretty constantly 
during the next few days, both at the Yilla des Ch^ 
taigniers and elsewhere, and watched him narrowly, 
was fain to admit that his manners were agreeable, 
and his dexterity in suiting himself to his company 
worthy of a skilled diplomatist. He could talk about 
music to Mrs. Lindsay ; he could discuss racing with 
the venerable Lord Marden, who had been upon the 
turf throughout his long life, and would infallibly 
have detected any superficial pretension to knowl- 
edge of that deep subject; and his remarks upon 
the land question to the Right Honorable Solomon 
Cockshott were so shrewd and so epigrammatic that 
that rising Radical statesman was moved to remon- 
strate with him upon leading a mere butterfiy ex- 
istence, instead of utilizing his great talents as a 
representative of the people. 

‘‘ I do like Mr. Staunton !” cried a lady, enthusi- 
astically, one da}^ to Arthur; “he has so many 
sides.” 

“ And all of them outsides,” Arthur remarked. 

“ Oh, of course. I suppose he possesses an inside, 
like the rest of us ; but I really don’t feel the slightest 
curiosity to look at it. His having such a number 
of outsides is what constitutes his superiority to 
other people, who usually have only one.” 


HER OWN DOING. 


23 


From a social point of view, that miglit be rea- 
sonable enough ; but when the many-sided man is 
likely to marry your cousin, and when that cousin 
happens also to be the woman with whom you are 
yourself profoundly and hopelessly in love, legiti- 
mate curiosity may be pushed to somewhat greater 
lengths. This was what Arthur felt ; and a sad dis- 
appointment it was to him to be baffled in all his at- 
tempts to obtain some information as to Mr. Staun- 
ton’s history. Nobody seemed to know, or want to 
know, much about him. “ Oh, he is one of the Bel- 
lingham Stauntons,you know,” they said ; as if that 
rendered all further investigation superfluous. A 
reference to the peerage showed these Bellingham 
Stauntons to be a numerous clan, but threw no light 
upon the identity of this particular member of it; 
nor could he very well be asked in so many words 
to give an account of himself, although he displayed 
no reluctance to respond to Captain Brooke’s dis- 
creet hints. 

‘‘ I am a rolling stone,” he confessed candidly one 
day ; “ I have never been able to bring myself to 
settle down anywhere yet ; but I shall have to come 
to it sooner or later, I suppose. In the meantime it 
suits me very well to knock about the world, and 
I have seen all four quarters of it. I am not sure 


24 


mu DOING. 


that that isn’t better than having dawdled one’s life 
away in the Guards.” 

‘‘Were you ever in the Guards?” asked Brooke, 
quickly. 

“]^o. I thought of the army at one time; only 
I felt that I couldn’t stand the monotony of it. You 
have had the luck to see some service ; but one can 
never count upon that.” 

There really was nothing to be said against the 
man. Captain Brooke, therefore, wisely held his 
peace, and when his cousin asked him what he thought 
of her friend, only replied, “ I think you gave an 
excellent description of him ; he is just what you 
told me that he was.” 

“ That means that you have been trying to pick 
holes in him, and that you can’t,” returned Mrs. 
Lindsay, a little defiantly. 

The young man smiled, and changed the subject. 
He did not choose to be drawn into a discussion out 
of which he was sure to come second best ; nor was 
he concerned to dispute his cousin’s right to marry 
whom she pleased. He had quite made up his mind 
that he could not, consistently with self-respect, ask 
her to be his wife ; consequently, if her wish was 
to marry again, it was assuredly not he who could 
stand in the way of her gratifying that wish. Hev- 


HER OWN DOING. 


26 


ertheless, he decided that he would not go on to Nice 
j ust yet. Relationship ought to count for something, 
and he felt that it was his privilege, if not precisely 
his duty, to see that poor Beatrice did not fall a prey 
to some needy fortune-hunter. So he remained at 
Cannes, watching the development of events, with- 
out making any effort to control the same, and turn- 
ing a deaf ear to the remonstrances of Violet, who 
plainly professed herself much disappointed in him. 

If Mrs. Lindsay had been equally open with her 
cousin, it is probable that she would have had to 
make a somewhat similar declaration. In the days 
of her girlhood Arthur had realized her ideal of all 
that a man should be ; she had not disguised from 
him that, if she had been free to consult her own in- 
clinations, she would have married him, and braved 
the ills of poverty ; and his dismissal had cost her 
many an hour of secret weeping. Afterwards, when 
Mr. Lindsay had made his offer, she had yielded to 
the pressure brought to bear upon her by her rela- 
tions, feeling that, since she could not be Arthur’s 
wife, it mattered little whose wife she might become. 
She had endeavored to do her duty to a peevish and 
uncongenial husband ; but she had been as unable 
to feel any affection for him during his lifetime as 
to restrain her thoughts from reverting to her early 


26 


HER OWN DOING. 


love upon his death. She was, however, no less con- 
vinced than Arthur that what might once have been 
could not now be. She had chosen her lot in life ; 
she had preferred wealth to love ; and, although the 
choice had not really been her own, she felt that she 
was bound to accept the consequences of it. The 
notion of marrying Arthur upon* Mr. Lindsay’s 
money was, not unnaturally, repugnant to her ; and, 
therefore, she had been a good deal perturbed by the 
news of his proposed visit to Cannes. She had fullj^ 
considered, before his arrival, what her line of con- 
duct with regard to him ought to be. She had de- 
termined that she would be very kind, but very firm, 
and that she would give him to understand that, 
anxious though she was to be his friend, she could 
by no possibility become anything more. 

There are few things more provoking than to arm 
yourself to the teeth for a desperate resistance, and 
then to find that nobody is dreaming of attacking 
you. When Arthur presented himself at the Yilla 
des Chataigniers day after day, and displayed no 
more than a cousinly interest in her proceedings, 
Mrs. Lindsay could not help being a little angry 
with him. She did not, of course, regret his indif- 
ference, or wish him to be in love with her, seeing 
that such a love must have been condemned before- 


HER OWN DOING. 


27 


hand to be rejected ; but she thought herself en- 
titled to be surprised at the facility with which he 
had got over what he had once declared to be an at- 
tachment which would end only with his life. She 
well remembered the letter that she had received 
from him before his departure for India, the passion- 
ate phrases that he had employed, and the pity that 
she had felt for him. His remarkable fickleness 
was, doubtless, a fortunate feature in his character 
for himself ; but it was scarcely one which redound- 
ed to his credit. In this way it came about that 
Mrs. Lindsay was often apt to be a little sharp and 
sarcastic in her speeches to a man who desired noth- 
ing more ardently than her welfare, and it may even 
be that her marked encouragement of Mr. Staunton’s 
attentions was partly due to the same cause. 

Mr. Staunton’s attentions had not, however, as yet 
entered upon what could be accounted a serious 
phase, and were more conspicuous to outsiders than 
to the subject of them. Mrs. Lindsay was, of 
course, aware that he liked her very much, perhaps 
also that he admired her; but his demeanor was 
rather that of an intimate friend than of a lover, 
and in the course of his visits, which were paid al- 
most daily, he said little or nothing to her that might 
not have been said in the ears of the entire English 


28 


HER OWN DOINO 


colony. But ‘ outsiders, who knew only that the 
visits were paid, naturally drew their own conclu- 
sions from that fact ; and Arthur Brooke found him- 
self to all intents and purposes in the position of an 
outsider. He often found himself, too, in the position 
of a third person, which was both painful and embar- 
rassing. Half-ashamed of mounting guard, yet more 
than half afraid to quit his post, he spent many long 
hours in Mrs. Lindsay’s drawing-room, scarcely open- 
ing his lips, and pretending to read the English pa- 
pers, round the corner of which she might have seen 
him peeping at frequent intervals, if she had chosen 
to turn her eyes in his direction. 

One afternoon, when he had the good or ill fort- 
une to find his cousin alone, he took heart of grace, 
and said : 

‘‘It seems to me that people are much less par- 
ticular about making acquaintances than they used 
to be. I wonder what our poor old grandmother 
would have thought of the society of this place, for 
instance.” 

“ Is it not as select as it ought to be?” asked Mrs. 
Lindsay. “ I see very little of it myself ; but from 
what Mr. Staunton tells me I should think it was 
very amusing, and Granny always liked to be 
amused.” 


HER OWN DOING. 


29 


“ She took very good care to find out who people 
were before she let them into her house, though.” 

“And is it customary to omit that precaution at 
Cannes 

“ So it would appear. Staunton himself is an ex- 
ample of it. He is made welcome wherever he 
goes, and yet I haven’t encountered a single person 
who ever saw or heard of him before this winter.” 

“ Oh, you have been making inquiries, then ?” 

“I don’t mind confessing that I have; and I only 
wish they had not been such a complete failure. I 
don’t for a moment assert that he isn’t what he pro- 
fesses to be ; still, it would be more satisfactory if 
he could produce some sort of credentials, and I must 
say I am surprised that nobody has thought of ask- 
ing for them.” 

“ Meaning me ?” 

“Would you be very much affronted if I said 
yes? After all, I am your nearest male relative 
now, and I do think that, in your situation, it be- 
hooves you to be rather particularly circumspect.” 

“ I was not conscious of having been the reverse.” 

“Do you consider it altogether circumspect to 
have Staunton in your house so continually ? Sure- 
ly you must be aware that it is remarked upon. I 
happen to know for a fact that half the old women 


30 


HER OWN DOING. 


in the place are gossiping about it ; and though you 
may not mind that, I do.” 

These words, which were littered with some slight 
display of temper, were not wholly displeasing to 
Mrs. Lindsay, who said, gently, 

“ But, Arthur, yon are continually in the house, 
too. What is it that you wish me to do ? Am I to 
shut my doors against Mr. Staunton 

“ Gf course not,” he returned. “ I should have no 
right in the world to make such a demand, or to in- 
terfere with you in your choice of — of your friends. 
All I meant to suggest was that you should try to 
discover a little more about Staunton. As for me, 
everybody knows that I am your cousin, and my 
visits are not likely to cause gossip of any kind.” 

Having risked something like an impertinence 
and received a soft answer. Captain Brooke was a 
good deal taken aback when what he had intended 
for a conciliatory speech was rewarded by a prompt 
snub. 

should have supposed,” Mrs. Lindsay said, 
“ that there were limits to the privileges even of a 
cousin. At any rate, I agree with you that you 
have no right to dictate to me who my friends shall 
be ; and as for prying into their antecedents, that 
would be an insult not only to them, but to my own 


HER OWN DOING. 


31 


judgment. I should not make a friend of any one 
who was not fit to be my friend.” 

This rather audacious claim to infallibility passed 
unrebuked ; for, before any rejoinder could be made 
to it, Mr. Staunton himself was announced, and Ar- 
thur immediately withdrew, leaving his rival — if 
such he could be called — in possession of the field 
for once. 

He walked away, calling himself a stupid idiot 
and other opprobrious names at every step ; and, in- 
deed, it must be owned that he had shown very lit- 
tle of the wisdom of the serpent in the colloquy just 
recorded. When he reached his hotel he sat down 
and dashed off a letter to a very old friend of his, 
whose sagacity had been of comfort to him in more 
than one previous season of perplexity. 

“My dear Mrs. Yane,” he wrote, “I wish you 
would make haste and come here. You said you 
would certainly be at Cannes before the end of Feb- 
ruary, and though we are now in March, there is no 
sign of you ; nor do the people at your villa know 
anything about the date of your arrival, for I have 
been up there to inquire three times. You don’t 
need me to say that I shall rejoice to see you for 
your own sake ; but I have another reason for en- 


32 


HER OWN DOING. 


treating you to hurry your movements, and that is, 
that I am very uneasy about Beatrice. She has 
taken up a fellow called Staunton, who may or may 
not be a fortune-hunting adventurer, and my remon- 
strances have no sort of effect upon her. I can’t re- 
monstrate very forcibly, nor, indeed, say much to 
her at all upon such a subject. You will easily un- 
derstand why. If this man is honest and well-born 
there is no reason why she should not marry him ; 
for I think she is sure to marry again some day. 
But, between ourselves, I have my doubts about 
him. He says he is a cousin of Lord Bellingham’s, 
whom you, who know everybody, are pretty certain 
to know. So, will you try and find out whether it is 
all right? And, whether it is or not, will you come 
out here and inspect the man yourself ? By doing 
so you may save Beatrice from committing a fatal 
mistake, and you will confer one more kindness upon 
‘‘ Your most sincere friend, 

“ Arthur Brooke.” 

Before a week was over this appeal was responded 
to as follows : 

‘ ‘ Curzon Street, 9th March, 18 — . 

“My dear Arthur, — If I did not fly from the 
east winds a month ago it was not the will that was 


HER OWN DOING. 


83 


wanting on my part. A series of accidents have 
kept me at home; but now I am packing up my 
portmanteau, and you may expect to see me in a 
few days. Unfortunately, I am not acquainted with 
Lord Bellingham ; but I have ascertained that he 
has eighteen authentic male first cousins. When I 
tell you that I have traced the whole dozen and a 
half of them, you will admit that I have carried out 
your instructions with energy and despatch. Uo less 
than thirteen of the number are under twenty years 
of age; and, of the remaining five, one is in the 
navy, one is in the Life Guards, one is a parson, 
and two are at Oxford. This seems to dispose of 
your friend ; but don’t say anything about it to Be- 
atrice, because I can’t swear that he isn’t a second 
cousin, and we had better not put ourselves in the 
wrong. Why ^’^ou cannot speak to her upon the 
subject of marriage I am at a loss to understand ; I 
should have thought that you could. But, never 
mind. I am coming, like a good fairy, to set every- 
thing straight, and I don’t mean Beatrice to marry 
Mr. Staunton, even if he is a Staunton of that ilk. 

Yours very sincerely, 

“ Latjea Yane.” 


3 


CHAPTER III. 


When Arthur Brooke laid down Mrs. Yane’s let- 
ter he rubbed his hands and began to take a more 
cheerful view of existence. Of his correspondent’s 
diplomatic ability and value as an ally he had the 
highest opinion. She was a woman of something 
over middle age, who had lived much in the world, 
possessed a strong will, as well as a certain insight 
into character, and enjoyed nothing more than ar- 
ranging the destinies of her friends for them after 
a benevolently despotic fashion. Distantly connect- 
ed with Arthur and Mrs. Lindsay by blood, she had 
always been closely connected with both of them by 
the ties of intimacy and friendship, and, although 
she had been unable to approve of an engagement 
between them in days gone by, her sympathies had 
been strongly with the young man after his dismis- 
sal. Not only were her sympathies with him still, 
but she had given him pretty clearly to understand 
that a renewal of his offer to Beatrice would have her 
warm support. The feelings of pride and delicacy 


HER OWN DOING. 


36 


which had precluded him from making such an offer 
appeared to her creditable, but somewhat over- 
strained, and she attached little more importance to 
them than is understood to be attached to the for- 
mal nolo ej>iscopari, which is uttered only to be 
overruled. 

At the bottom of his heart, Arthur was conscious . 
that his scruples were not absolutely invincible, and 
this knowledge may have counted for something in 
his satisfaction at the news of Mrs. Yane’s approach. 
Not less satisfactory to him was the conclusion 
which he somewhat prematurely deduced from her 
letter, that Staunton was sailing under false colors. 
He might, at a pinch, have been magnanimous 
enough to view with resignation the marriage of 
the woman whom he loved to a man worthy of her ; 
but his magnanimity would have been abnormal if 
he could have witnessed the discomfiture of this 
particular man without a little of that emotion 
which the Germans call Schadenfreude^ and which, 
for having no exact equivalent in other languages, 
is not the less familiar to all human hearts. 

Pending the issue which he anticipated, and 
which he knew that Mrs. Yane might be trusted to 
bring about in a dexterous and telling style, he as- 
sumed an attitude of dignified neutrality, visited 


HER OWN DOING. 


the Yilla des Chataigniers less frequently, and was 
distantly polite to Staunton, whom he could not 
help seeing every day, and who always greeted him 
amiably. There is, however, a difference between 
showing civility to an undeclared foe, and consent- 
ing to eat his salt ; and when Captain Brooke was 
requested to join in an excursion to Grasse, fol- 
lowed by a dinner at Mr. Staunton’s expense, he 
judged it best to excuse himself. His excuse — a 
not very intelligible one — was received with a few 
perfunctory words of regret by his would-be enter- 
tainer, and there, no doubt, the matter would have 
ended, if the two men had been alone. But it 
chanced that Mr. Staunton had given his invitation 
in the street, where Arthur had met him in com- 
pany with Mrs. Lindsay and her sister; and Mrs. 
Lindsay said, “Oh, Arthur, you must come! I 
know you can, if you choose;” while Yiolet, from 
the background, frowned and nodded at him so 
emphatically that he wavered, and at last confessed 
that he might be able to manage it. 

The quaint old town of Grasse, perched high 
among the hills that shelter Cannes, and itself shel- 
tered by the more lofty ranges which rise behind it, 
is in these days known by name to most English 
people, and by sight to a great many. Its steep, 


HER OWN DOING. 


3Y 

narrow streets, into which the noonday sun can 
scarcely force a passage, and which have remained 
precisely what they were a century ago or more, 
are frequented during the winter season by persons 
whose dress and appearance has a startling effect of 
incongruity amid those crumbling walls. Turning 
one of the sharp corners suddenly, you may find 
yourself face to face with the Duchess of Double- 
chin, attended by a bevy of Belgravian youths and 
maidens, or haply you may run against ’Arry and 
’Arriet, toiling along arm-in-arm and mopping their 
brows; for it is a lamentable fact that Cannes, 
whence these sight-seers hail, is no longer the ex- 
clusively aristocratic resort that it once was. How- 
ever, lest the reader should fear that he is going to 
be taken into low company, let us hasten to add 
that the party which had been got together by Mr. 
Staunton was composed of ladies and gentlemen 
whose social standing was quite unimpeachable, and 
who were, perhaps, on that account all the more 
willing to take the social standing of their enter- 
tainer upon trust. 

He had carriages waiting at the station to convey 
them up the hill. When they had passed -through 
the gates of the town, he took them to see what 
there was to be seen — the cathedral, the old streets. 


38 


HER OWN DOING 


the manufactories of scent and bonbons and can- 
died fruits, for which the place is famed, and of 
which he purchased samples for presentation to the 
ladies. Mrs. Lindsay received an exquisite enamel 
honbonniere (evidently not a product of Grasse) 
filled with sugared orange-blossoms, and there was 
a good deal of jocularity and laughter over this 
gift, which to one of the party seemed to be in exe- 
crable taste. 

When they had eaten enough bonbons and had 
had more than a sufficiency of scent poured upon 
their handkerchiefs, they all adjourned to the ter- 
race to admire the view and the sunset, and then 
it was that Yiolet took occasion to draw near to 
Arthur, who was standing moodily apart. 

“ Are you enjoying yourself?” she inquired. 

“No,” he answered, rather crossly, “I am not.” 

“ Shake hands, then ; for I’m not enjoying my- * 
self either. Do you think Beatrice is ?” 

“ To all appearance, she is.” 

“And you always judge by appearances, don’t 
you? Do you know, Arthur, that you are very 
stupid ? I like you all the better for it, because I 
hate clever men ; but there is such a thing as being 
too stupid. Why don’t you go and talk to Beatrice 
a little? You never talk to her now; you sit in 


HER OWN DOING. 


39 


corners, looking bored to death, and let that odious 
wretch have everything his own way. Oh, here 
he comes ! Thank goodness, Beatrice is out of 
hearing, and I can be as rude to him as I please, 
without being scolded for it afterwards.’’ • 

Mr. Staunton advanced, with a smile- upon his 
face, and did not seem to fear a rude reception ; 
though experience might have warned him that he 
would assuredly not meet with anything else at 
the hands of Mrs. Lindsay’s sister. 

“ Miss Yiolet,” said he, “ I hope you will honor 
me by accepting this small memento of Grasse.” 
And he produced a cut-glass scent - bottle with a 
gold stopper. 

“Thanks,” replied Yiolet, curtly ; “but I abhor 
all scents. They make me sick.” 

“Really? How unfortunate! But at any rate 
bonbons are not likely to produce that disagreeable 
effect upon you at your time of life, and I think I 
have a bonbonnilre here which you may not dis- 
dain.” 

“ It’s quite like a school-feast, isn’t it ?” said Yio- 
let, turning to Arthur, with a laugh. “ Plenty to 
eat all round, and a present for everybody to take 
away. But I won’t rob you of your honbonnilre^ 
Mr. Staunton. Bonbons may be be suitable to my 


40 


HER OWN DOING. 


age; but enamel boxes aren’t. You had better 
keep it for somebody who is a few years older.” 

“ It seems to me,” said Staunton, quite good-hu- 
moredly, “that you are rather advanced for your 
age.” 

“Now that you mention it, perhaps I am. I 
don’t think I am so easily taken in as some of my 
elders.” 

Staunton looked surprised, and a little amused. 
“That sounds very pointed,” he remarked. “I 
hope you don’t mean to accuse me of trying to 
take you in.” 

“I don’t know whether you have tried or not,” 
returned Violet, nodding at him; “but you haven’t 
succeeded.” 

Even Arthur felt that this was pushing incivility 
too far. “ My dear Violet!” he remonstrated. 

But Staunton only laughed, and glanced at his 
watch. “ Are you ready for dinner, Brooke ?” he 
asked. “ Because I think dinner must be ready for 
us by this time. Shall w'e go into the hotel and see ?” 

It was not upon such culinary skill as might be 
obtainable at Grasse that. Mr. Staunton had chosen 
to rely for the comfort of his guests. He had taken 
care to despatch a chef and a competent staff of 
waiters from Cannes in advance; and the dinner 


HER OWN DOING. 


41 


which was presently served was as unexceptionable 
as the wines that accompanied it. A man who gives 
you a good dinner and good wine cannot but appear 
to be a good fellow while the dinner lasts. On the 
following morning you may be able to revise your 
estimate of him, and make reasonable deductions 
from it ; but for the time being, gratitude is apt to 
interfere with impartial criticism. Yet to this, as 
to all rules, there are exceptions, and Captain 
Brooke, who ate little and drank less, was not ham- 
pered in his judgment by any feeling of thankful- 
ness to his host. 

What he was thinking, while he lent an inattentive 
ear to the remarks of the lady who sat beside him, 
was : “ This must have cost a lot of money. I won- 
der whether the fellow has got any money ; I won- 
der whether he doesnT mean to pay for our enter- 
tainment with Beatrice’s money. Confound him ! 
it is like his cheek to put her on his right hand, 
when there are four women of higher rank present. 
It’s very marked — no doubt he intends it to be 
marked. What did that child mean by telling me 
to talk more to her sister ? Is it possible ? — but no ; 
of course it isn’t! There can’t be the slightest doubt 
that Beatrice likes being made conspicuous in this 
way. If she doesn’t like it, why should she submit 
to it?” 


42 


HER OWN DOING. 


As a matter of fact, Mrs. Lindsay did not alto- 
gether like it ; and if Arthur had been a little more 
just and a little less hasty, he would have acknowl- 
edged that she was at least not to blame for occupy- 
ing the place of honor. In such matters a guest has 
no choice but to accept the host’s decision, and Mrs. 
Lindsay, though somewhat annoyed at having a 
false position thrust upon her, could only trust that 
at so informal a gathering it might be suffered to 
pass without remark. That it had been remarked 
by Arthur she could not help being aware. His 
displeasure was so evident that she forgave him for 
the indifference which he had displayed on a former 
occasion, as well as for his avoidance of her during 
the past ten days, and as soon as dinner was over 
she took an opportunity of approaching him, with 
a view to the renewal of friendly relations. 

“Are you still angry with me, Arthur?” she 
asked. 

Such a question, when spoken softly in the twi- 
light, and accompanied by an appealing glance from 
a pair of very expressive eyes, is extremely trying 
to the nerves of a man bent upon doing his duty, 
come what may. Arthur found it so ; but he reso- 
lutely swallowed down the impetuous reply which 
rose to his lips, and said : “ Still angry with you ? 


HER OWN DOING. 


43 


I have not been angry with you at all, Beatrice, that 
I am aware of.” 

“ I thought,” she said, ‘‘ that you did not like the 
way in which I took your advice the other day. 
At all events, you have scarcely been to see me 
since, and when we do meet, you won’t speak.” 

“ When I speak, I am apt to 'give offence,” re- 
marked Captain Brooke. ‘‘If you want me to say 
what a delightful day we have had, and how lovely 
the effect of the moonlight is on the hills over there, 
and all that sort of thing, I will endeavor to enter- 
tain you. Only I fancy Mr. Staunton would do it 
better.” 

“I have no doubt that he would; but I don’t 
want to be talked to in that way just now. Say 
exactly what you think, Arthur; only don’t let us 
quarrel.” 

“ Is there not some danger of our quarrelling .if I 
say what I think ? You know already what I think 
about your intimacy with Mr. Staunton ; so you can 
easily guess what I think about the exhibition to 
which we have been treated this evening.” 

“ Exhibition !” repeated Mrs. Lindsay, indignant- 

ij- 

“Keally, I can’t find any other word. If you are 
engaged to be married to the man, there is no more 


44 


HER OWN DOING. 


to be said, and, perhaps, this way of making yonr 
engagement known to your friends is as good a one 
as another — ” 

“ You know I am not engaged to him !” she in- 
terrupted. 

“ I did not know it. I can’t see what, short of 
that, could excuse — explain, I mean — your publicly 
accepting a valuable present from him.” 

The tears rose into Mrs. Lindsay’s eyes ; but an- 
ger dried them before they fell. “Thank yon, 
Arthur,” she said, calmly; “you have given me 
your opinion of me now, and we won’t quarrel over 
it. But I shall beware of asking you your thoughts 
a second time ; they are too unpleasant and too un- 
friendly to be talked about.” And with that she 
turned away. 

To see one’s opportunity and to seize it might be 
called the secret of success, were not the word secret 
something of a misnomer as applied to an axiom 
which all the world admits. It is not the conditions 
of success that are generally ignored ; but the many 
fail, while the few succeed, because the many either 
do not perceive the right moment for action, or, per- 
ceiving it, lack the courage to profit by it. The 
men who have both insight and audacity are the 
men who win ; and Mr. Staunton was one of those 


HER OWN DOING. 


45 


enviable persons. Standing in a corner of the long 
and almost dark room, from which the rest of his 
guests had sauntered out by twos and threes, he had 
watched the colloquy between Mrs. Lindsay and her 
cousin, had noted its abrupt termination, and knew 
just as well what they had been talking about as if 
every word of their conversation had reached his ears. 
Without hesitating for a moment, he followed Mrs. 
Lindsay down-stairs and caught her up in the door- 
way, where she paused to look out at the moonlight, 
which was now flooding the old town and the moun- 
tains- opposite, and the plain far beneath. 

“We have still a good half-hour before the train 
starts,” he remarked. “ Shall we see if we can find 
the others ? They have gone to the terrace, I think.” 

She made a sign of assent, and he walked beside her 
for a few yards in silence. The sound of voices and 
laughter, proceeding from a short distance off, gave 
a clew to the whereabouts of the' remainder of the 
party ; but it seemed that Mr. Staunton was not, 
after all, very anxious to join them ; for on reach- 
ing a stone bench he said, with some suddenness : 

“ Please sit down here, Mrs. Lindsay, if you are 
not afraid of catching cold. I have something to 
say to you.” 

She paused irresolutely for a few seconds, but 


46 


HER OWN DOING. 


finally decided to do as she was asked ; and Staun- 
ton continued : 

‘‘ 1 am sure you must know what it is that I wish 
to say to you, and you may, perhaps, think that I am 
too presumptuous in venturing to tell you that I love 
you. In one way, no doubt, it is presumptuous ; but 
not as most people count presumption. It would 
be neither more nor less so if you were a beggar. In 
the eyes of the world, your large fortune places you 
far above me; but I cannot admit that that is really 
the case. Money is power; but the possession of 
power is worthless unless you know how to use it. 
It is because I believe that I do know how to use 
power that I con&ider myself upon a footing of 
equality with you as regards that matter. If I were 
proposing a bargain to you, I might say, ‘ Give me 
control over this force, and I will show you what 
can be done with it. Alone, neither of us could 
accomplish anything great ; but together 'we can not 
only make ourselves heard of in the world, but leave 
the world a little better than we found it.’ Of 
course, though, I am not proposing a bargain to you. 
I ask you to marry me because I love you ; I only 
speak like this by way of explaining why I think I 
have the right to say boldly that I love you.” 

I quite admit your right, Mr. Staunton,” an- 


HER OWN DOING. 


4Y 

Bwered Mrs. Lindsay, who had not been at all pre- 
pared for an harangue of this kind ; “ but — ” 

“ I was sure beforehand that you would admit it,” 
he interrupted. “ Others, however, will not. You 
will find that objections will be made to me. It will 
be said that I am not a rich enough man to be above 
suspicion, and that, if I marry you, it will be for the 
sake of your money. Well, as to that I must ask 
you to trust me ; there is no means of disproving 
such assertions. For some opposition we must be 
prepared ; it will be our own fault if we allow it to 
trouble us.” 

‘‘ But, Mr. Staunton, you are really going a great 
deal too fast,” protested Mrs. Lindsay. “ You seem 
to take it for granted that I am willing to accept 
your offer.” 

‘‘Ah,” he returned, with a swift change of tone, 
“ if I seem to assume that, it is because I can’t bear 
to admit to myself how much I doubt it. I haven’t 
the vanity to think that you love me ; but without 
any vanity I may say that I believe I can make you 
happy. Our tastes are the same, and so, I fancy, are 
our ambitions and our views of life. I feel sure that 
I understand you better than most men would. But 
just because I do understand you, and because I see 
how amiable and unselfish you are, I know that you 


48 


HER OWN DOING. 


are very easily influenced. You are very much un- 
der the influence of your cousin, Captain Brooke, for 
instance, and, unfortunately for me. Captain Brooke 
does not like me. I am sorry for it, because I have 
always rather liked him ; but for some reason or 
other I am in his black books, and it is certain that 
he will not allow you to marry me, if he can help it.” 

“ I should not consult him,” Mrs. Lindsay replied, 
drawing herself up slightly. “ Neitlier he nor any 
one else can prevent me from doing what I wish ; 
only I do not wish to marry again. I am very sorry 
if this is a disappointment to you, Mr. Staunton ; but 
1 have quite made up my mind about it.” 

Mr. Staunton, however, had also made up his mind, 
which was of far greater strength than Mrs. Lind- 
say’s. How much stronger it was may be estimated 
by the fact that, within ten minutes of making the 
above declaration, she had consented to intrust lier 
future life, her happiness, and her fortune to a man 
of whom she knew little more than that he had a 
persuasive tongue, a tolerable tenor voice, and agree- 
able manners. Also that her cousin Arthur was un- 
reasonably prejudiced against him. 


CHAPTEK lY. 


In moments of irritation we are all prone to say 
more than we mean, and Captain Brooke, in giving 
his cousin to understand that by accepting an enamel 
box from Mr. Staunton she had as good as announced 
her engagement to that gentleman, had certainly 
been guilty of some conscious exaggeration. In 
truth, he believed the catastrophe referred to to be 
a remote, although a possible one ; so that when, on 
the ensuing morning, a note was brought to him 
from the Yilla des Chataigniers, he was very far 
from being prepared for its contents. Had Mrs. 
Lindsay been able to see the look of blank conster- 
nation which overspread his features as he perused 
her composition, she would doubtless have felt 
amply repaid for the pains which she had taken 
with it. 

“ I know you do not like Mr. Staunton,” she wrote, 
in conclusion ; ‘‘ but I am sure you will not distress 
me by refusing to be friendly with him now; and 
when you are better acquainted with him, you will 

i 


60 


HER OWN DOING. 


admit, I hope, that my choice has been a wise one. 
He is coming to tea with me at five o’clock this af- 
ternoon, when I shall be very glad to see you also, 
if you have nothing better to do.” 

After Captain Brooke had reassembled his scat- 
tered wits, it occurred to him that he could easily 
find something better to do than that. A letter from 
his friend Mrs. Yane had apprised him of her in- 
tended arrival at half-past three that afternoon, and 
although, under ordinary circumstances, he would 
have felt bound to allow her twenty-four hours of 
rest after her journey, the present circumstances 
seemed to be extraordinary enough to justify a less 
considerate course. He resolved, therefore, that he 
would betake himself to her house, instead of to 
Mrs. Lindsay’s, at tea-time, and during the interval 
he employed himself in writing various replies — 
some sarcastic, some reproachful, some formally po- 
lite — to his cousin, and tearing them all up impartial- 
ly, when written. 

Mrs. Yane, a bright-eyed little woman, whose hair 
was turning gray, but whose cheeks still retained 
something of the bloom of youth, cut short the 
apologies with which her visitor announced him- 
self. 

I am never tired,” said she^ “ and I always make 


HER OWN DOING. 


51 


it a rule to send the servants on three days ahead of 
me, so that everything may be in its place when 1 
arrive. I am quite ready to receive yon, and very 
glad that you have come. Now, what is your news 

“ Bad,” answered the young man, gloomily ; 
“ worse by a great deal than anything that I ex- 
pected to have to tell you. Beatrice sent me a note 
this morning, announcing that she had engaged her- 
self to Stannton.” 

“My dear Arthur,” exclaimed Mrs. Yane, “how 
amazingly stupid you must have been ! What can 
you have been thinking about to let things come to 
such a pass !” 

“ I dare say I am very stupid,”^ agreed Arthur, 
humbly ; “ but I really don’t see how I was to pre- 
vent this from happening. I said everything to 
Beatrice that I could say.” 

“Everything except the right thing, I suppose. 
Well, there is not much to be gained by discussing 
what you said or left unsaid now. We must get 
her to break off the engagement as soon as possible, 
that’s all.” 

Arthur shook his head dubiously. “ I am afraid 
that even you may find it difiScult to manage that,” 
he replied. 

“ I feel perfectly confident of being able to m^u- 


62 


HER OWN DOING. 


age it. Whether it will take days or weeks will de- 
pend chiefly upon what kind of man Mr. Staunton 
may be.” 

“ I should say that he was a determined kind of 
man.” 

“ Ah — and a gentleman ?” 

“Well, no, I don’t think so; but he seems to go 
down with most people. Yiolet and I agree in 
suspecting that there is a screw loose about him 
somewhere.” 

“You haven’t made the mistake of being rude to 
him since the engagement was given out, I hope.” 

“ I haven’t had the chance. As I tell you, I only 
heard the news from Beatrice this morning, when 
she wrote, and asked me to go to tea with her at 
five o’clock and meet the fellow. Of course, I didn’t 
care about doing that. I haven’t even answered her 
note yet.” 

“ King the bell,” said Mrs. Yane. “ I shall order 
the carriage and take you there at once. When I 
have had a look at Mr. Staunton I shall be better 
able to judge what can be done; but one thing is 
certain — you must not quarrel with either of them. 
So prepare to dissemble. It will not be necessary 
for you to say much or to look pleased ; only you 
should endeavor to look resigned.” 


Her own doinO. 


63 


*^What energy you have!” exclaimed Arthur. 
“ I will do my best to obey your orders ; but really 
I am very much ashamed of setting you to work like 
this the monient that you arrive.” 

“ To confess the truth, I rather like it,” answered 
Mrs. Yane, laughing. “I am like the terrier who 
was always ready to draw a badger, it’s ‘ a little ’oli- 
day ’ for me. Besides, Beatrice will naturally expect 
me to lose no time in congratulating her.” 

A quarter of an hour later the allied forces ar- 
rived upon the scene of operations, where Mrs. Lind- 
say and Mr. Staunton were discovered, with the tea- 
table between them ; and the former, though dis- 
playing some slight embarrassment, was evidently 
pleased by the promptitude with which her old 
friend had sought her out. To Arthur, who almost 
choked himself in getting out an incoherent speech 
about thanking her for her note, and hoping that 
she would be happy, she said very little ; indeed, Mrs. 
Yane, who at once took her affectionately by the 
hand and drew her away into a corner, gave her no 
chance of addressing more than a word or two to 
him. The two ladies saw fit to carry on their con- 
versation in very low tones; and thus Arthur found 
himself compelled to sit down beside Staunton, who 
said : 


54 


HER OWN DOING. 


‘‘Beatrice tells me that she has let you into our 
secret. We don’t want it to be generally talked 
about just yet ; but she feels that you are not quite 
like a stranger.” = 

If anything could have infuriated poor Arthur 
more than to hear this man speak of his cousin by 
her Christian name, it would have been the patroniz- 
ing assurance that she did not regard him quite as a 
stranger, coming from one who had himself been 
a complete stranger to her only a few weeks before. 
But he bore his instructions in mind, and kept strict- 
ly within the letter of them. He did not say much, 
nor did he look pleased; but his countenance ex- 
pressed as near an approach to resignation as could 
be expected, and he was even able to allow Staun- 
ton some credit for tact in immediately changing 
the subject. 

If Mr. Staunton possessed the gift of tact, Mrs. 
Yane was not far behind him in that respect, while 
she was perhaps his superior in the art of tactics. All 
the time that she was talking to Mrs. Lindsay in an 
impressive whisper she kept an eye on him ; she de- 
tected one or two furtive glances which he shot in 
her direction, and she perceived that he already re- 
garded her as a probable antagonist. It was neces- 
sary to correct that impression, and so she rose pres- 


HEit OWN DOING. 


66 


entlj, saying, ‘‘ Now, Beatrice, you must show me 
your garden. I want to see what improvements 
3^ou have made since you came into possession.’’ 

Once out of doors, there was no difficulty in tak- 
ing Mr. Staunton aside; and this opportunity she 
turned to account in a manner worthy of her high 
reputation. She guessed that he was not a man 
who could be easily humbugged, and that soft 
phrases would be far more likely to set him upon 
his guard than to conciliate him. Therefore she 
began, without any preface : 

“Confess, Mr. Staunton, that for tlie last half- 
hour you have been wishing me at Jericho. You 
have been saying to yourself, ‘It is rather hard 
that, just when I have obtained the object of my 
fondest hopes, a troublesome, meddling old woman 
should drop down from the skies, and want to know 
all about me, and very probably raise all sorts of 
objections to me.’ ” 

“I am not conscious of the feelings that you de- 
scribe, Mrs. Yane,” answered Mr. Staunton, smiling. 
“ I trust that I shall not be found objectionable by 
you ; but even though such should be my misfort- 
une, I should still venture to hope that Mrs. Lind- 
say’s opinion of me would not be altered by the 
disapproval of any friend, however valued.” 






“Don’t be too sure of that. Mrs. Lindsay (to 
whom you are not yet married), is much guided by 
her friends, and by none more than my humble 
self. Luckily for you, I am really not hard to 
please. I don’t consider it at all indispensable for 
her to make what is called a great match. The 
main thing is that her husband should be firm, 
kind-hearted, and no fool. I don’t say that he 
should be a gentleman, because that is understood, 
and because I don’t doubt your possessing that 
qualification. They tell me that you are nearly 
related to Lord Bellingham, whom I don’t happen 
to know personally, but whose position is, of course, 
a sufticient guarantee. Now, is it worth your while, 
do you think, to cultivate my acquaintance, or do 
my blunt manners repel you ?” 

“I am never repelled by straightforward lan- 
guage, Mrs. Yane,” replied Mr. Staunton, blandly, 
“ and it will give me very great pleasure to become 
better acquainted with you.” 

“Then come and dine quietly with me at eight 
o’clock to-morrow evening. I shall ask one or two 
other people; but, for obyious reasons, I sha’n’t ask 
Beatrice.” 

She gave him a little nod, by way of farewell, 
and, catching up Captain Brooke, who was standing 


HER Doing. 


67 


beside Mrs. Lindsay, but was not speaking to her, 
said, briskly, “ I will give you a lift down as far^as 
your hotel, if you like. Good-night, Beatrice ; mind 
you come and see me soon.” 

“Well?” asked Arthur, eagerly, as soon as he 
was seated in Mrs. Yane’s carriage; “what do you 
think of him ?” 

“ I hope to be able to tell you shortly before mid- 
night to-morrow,” she replied. “ He is coming to 
dine with me, and so must you, if you have no other 
engagement. I rather fancy that he will find me 
one too many for him.” 

Mrs. Yane, who was an old winter-resident at 
Cannes, had a large circle of friends among those 
who frequented the place, and was justly renowned 
for the little dinners which she gave on most nights 
of the week, and which were generally arranged by 
her at very short notice. When Staunton, in obe- 
dience to the invitation that he had received, pre- 
sented himself in her drawing-room, he found nine 
people, of whom Captain Brooke was one, assem- 
bled there. They were persons with whom he had 
recently made acquaintance, and he could not but 
notice the look of interest and curiosity with which 
they, one and all, greeted him. It was plain that 
the news of his engagement had leaked out through 


68 


HER OWN DOING. 


one of those mysterious channels which no amount 
of care can ever effectually close in such cases ; 
and it was no less plain that the company was in- 
clined to regard him with altered and more critical 
eyes in consequence. For there is a vast difference 
between dining, dancing, or even flirting with an 
agreeable young bachelor from nobody knows where, 
and binding yourself to him for the rest of your 
life. 

Mr. Staunton, scenting incipient hostility in the 
air, put forth all his energies to check it, and was 
certainly successful in making himself very pleasant 
to everybody. He knew his world pretty well, and 
was aware that it was no mere coincidence that led 
several ladies, who had never before asked a single 
question of him about Lord Bellingham, to become 
suddenly and simultaneously interested in the head 
of the Staunton family. He was quite frank and 
good-humored in his attempts to gratify a curiosity 
which, under the circumstances, no sensible man 
could resent ; and, although he was unable to give 
all the information requested, he displayed an inci- 
dental knowledge of family belongings and localities 
which sounded satisfactory. 

“The fact is that I hear very little of my people 
nowadays,’’ he confessed. “I have been roaming 


HER OWN DOING. 


69 


about the world for several years, and I am a poor 
correspondent, I am sorry to say.” 

After a time his questioners desisted from cross- 
examination, and allowed themselves to be amused 
by him, as usual. Even Arthur Brooke could not 
deny that Staunton was a very amusing fellow. 
He knew how to lead the talk, without monopoliz- 
ing it ; he had the knack of saying clever things 
which were not obtrusively clever ; above all, he had 
acquired the somewhat rare art of helping others 
to show themselves at their best. Thus the party, 
which had not at first seemed to be quite free from 
elements of discord, ended by becoming a very 
merry one. Mrs. Yane, always vivacious, appeared 
to be in particularly good spirits, and displayed a 
friendliness to Mr. Staunton which was generally 
remarked. In the drawing-room, after dinner, she 
picked up one of those very unpleasant inventions, 
by means of which the air is made heavy with scent, 
and accidentally delivered a shower of spray full 
into Staunton’s face ; whereupon she promptly 
whipped out her pocket-handkerchief, and, bending 
over him in an almost maternal fashion, dried his 
forehead, while she apologized for her awkward- 
ness. This little incident was not without its effect 
upon the bystanders. Mrs. Yane was rightly cred- 


60 


mn OWN DOING. 


ited with great shrewdness, as well as with an ex- 
haustive knowledge of the nobility and gentry of 
Great Britain and Ireland. Consequently, if Mrs. 
Vane took this man up, it was tolerably certain that 
there could be nothing wrong about him. After 
that her guests vied with one another in cordiality 
to her presumed 'protege, and some of them began 
to wonder whether they would have to expend ten 
pounds in a wedding-present for Mrs. Lindsay, or 
whether five would sufiice. 

When they had all gone away, Arthur, who had 
been somewhat staggered by the behavior of his 
ally, was still more staggered by the first words that 
she addressed to him. 

“Well,” said she, quite coolly, “your friend is 
a chevalier dHndustrie. Neither more nor less than 
that.” 

“ Good gracious !” ejaculated Arthur, aghast. 

“You may well say so. I don’t very much won- 
der at his having taken in the general public, be- 
cause he really is extremely clever and plausible ; but 
that you, who were inclined to suspect him all along, 
should have failed to find him out, is, I must con- 
fess, a little surprising to me.” 

“But how in the world did 'you find him out?” 
asked Arthur, admiringly. 


HER OWN DOING. 


61 


She spread out her handkerchief, and held it up 
by two of its corners. 

‘‘Do you see anything remarkable there?’’ she 
inquired. 

“ I see a black smudge.” 

“Exactly so — a pleasing souvenir of Mr. Staun- 
ton’s eyebrows. Men who have such very dark hair, 
and who shave themselves so very closely, are apt to 
become a little blue about the cheeks and chin tow- 
ards six o’clock in the evening. I managed to get 
Mr. Staunton with his face to the sunset yesterday, 
and I saw that he wasn’t blue at all. When I in- 
spected him more nearly, I felt morally convinced 
that he possessed a bottle of dye ; but as one scrap 
of proof positive is worth any number of moral con- 
victions, I squirted eau-de-cologne into his eyes this 
evening, and then wiped them — with the result that 
you see.” 

“ By Jove, what a scoundrel !” 

“ Dreadful, isn’t he ? All the same, you’ll be so 
good as not to hurry otf and denounce him at the 
Villa des Chataigniers early to-morrow morning, 
which is what you are meditating. To dye the hair 
and eyebrows is not in itself a criminal act, and there 
is no greater mistake than declaring war before you 
^re sure of victory, We c^n afiord to be patient, 


62 


HER OWN DOING. 


because we hold good cards. Mr. Staunton has very 
foolishly and needlessly committed himself to the 
statement that he is a cousin of Lord Bellingham’s. 
I hope before long to confront him with Lord Bel- 
lingham in person ; after which I suspect that we 
shall hear no more of his engagement to Beatrice. 
Beatrice, as perhaps you don’t know, is just one of 
those weak, amiable people who turn ob^inate when 
they are thwarted, and cling to an error a great deal 
more persistently than they ever cling to the truth. 
It would be worse than useless to talk to her about 
Mr. Staunton’s eyebrows; we must drag his mask 
off in her presence, or she will* only think that you 
are jealous and that I am prejudiced.” 

“ I don’t consider that at all a fair description of 
Beatrice,” said Arthur, who, however much he himself 
might be incensed against his cousin, did not choose 
to hear her spoken against by others. “You can’t 
expect every woman’s eyes to be as sharp as yours.” 

Mrs. Vane laughed. 

“ My eyes are sharp enough to see that my sharp- 
ness must belts own reward, and that I shall get small 
thanks from you for all the trouble that I am giving 
myself,” she remarked. “ Fortunately, it will be re- 
ward enough for me to see Mr. Staunton’s face 
when I produce Lord Bellinghani af Cannes,” 


HER OWN DOING. 


63 


‘‘ And how are you going to produce Lord Belling- 
ham ? I thought you didn’t know him.” 

“Nor do I; but I know a Mr. Warde, who is at 
present travelling with him in Italy. I need hardly 
say that I took care to inform myself about Lord 
Bellingham before I left England. It seems that 
he is a good-natured and rather rowdy sort of young 
man, who does what he is asked, if it isn’t too much 
trouble. I shall write to Mr. Warde to make him 
stop a day or two here on their way home, and when 
they arrive I shall ask Beatrice and Mr. Staunton to 
meet them. You may come too, if you think you 
would enjoy it.” 

“ To tell you the truth,” answered Arthur, “ I am 
not sure that I should. I* have no wish to see 
Beatrice put to shame. Wouldn’t it be more sim- 
ple to write, and ask whether Lord Bellingham ac- 
knowledges this man as his cousin ?” 

“It would be more simple, but it would be less 
amusing, less dramatic, and less convincing. My 
belief is that conviction will not be brought home 
to Beatrice by anything short of the testimony of 
her own senses ; added to which, I don’t want to let 
Mr. Staunton off too easily. Only have patience, 
keep your temper, leave things to me, and I wilj 
0,ns\ver for it that all will be well,” 


CHAPTER Y. 


A TRULY unselfish person will, no doubt, be ever 
ready to sacrifice his or her own interests to those 
of others, but will not invariably be disposed to let 
others have their own way, since that is anything 
but the surest method of promoting their interests. 
It is probable, therefore, that Beatrice Lindsay was 
not a truly unselfish person, although she was a 
sweet-tempered and lovable one. It was out of her 
power to be happy urfless those about her were hap- 
py too ; all her life long she had been anxious, above 
everything, to satisfy them ; and thus her life had 
hitherto had a good deal more of anxiety than 
satisfaction in it. Few people would feel the dis- 
approval of a child of fifteen to be a serious obstacle 
in the way of carrying out any scheme, but it was so 
felt by Mrs. Lindsay ; and, in truth, situated as Vio- 
let was, her sister’s re-marriage concerned her more 
closely than such an event would have concerned 
most girls of her age. 

you may say what you please, Beatrice, but you 


HER OWN DOING. 


66 


won’t make me believe that you really care for that 
detestable man,” she declared ; ‘‘ and, even if yon 
adored him, I should still hate him.” 

“ You don’t know how you distress me when you 
speak like that, Yiolet,” sighed poor Mrs. Lindsay ; 
“you almost make me wish that I had never seen 
Mr. Staunton.” 

“ Then I shall go on speaking like that up to the 
last moment,” returned the implacable Yiolet. “ I 
shouldn’t mind a bit how much I distressed you if 
I could get you to throw him over. You know you 
have been wretched ever since you accepted him.” 

“ Of course I must be wretched when I see that 
you are. But, in reality, we both need some one to 
take care of us ; and, whether you like Mr. Staunton 
or not, you must admit that he is capable of doing 
that.” 

“ Why ? Because he is so very capable of taking 
care of. himself? I would rather trust a man like 
Arthur, who can’t take care of himself at all. Ar- 
thur is stupid and aggravating, but, at least, he is 
honest. He wanted to marry you when you were 
poor, which is more than can be said for Mr. Staun- 
ton.” 

^‘It is not Mr. Staunton’s fault that he did not 
know me when I was poor ; and Arthur is probably 
5 


HER OWN DOING. 


very glad now that he was not allowed to have 
what he w^anted as a boy,” returned Mrs. Lindsay. 
“ I am sure I have done the right thing, and I hope 
you will see before long that it was the right thing.” 

Nevertheless, she was neither as certain nor as 
hopeful as she professed to be. She knew that she 
had acted hastily ; she was astonished, and also, per- 
haps, a little disappointed, at Arthur’s calm acqui- 
escence in her choice, and Mrs. Yane’s congratula- 
tions had puzzled rather than pleased her. Having 
pledged her word to Mr. Staunton, she had no idea 
of throwing him over, but if he had seen fit to treat 
her in that ungallant manner, she assuredly would 
not have broken her heart over his fickleness. It 
may even have been with some forlorn hope of in- 
ducing him to do so that she said to him, in the 
course of the same afternoon, 

‘‘I must tell you something which, perhaps, I 
ought to have told you before. It is about my 
cousin, Arthur Brooke. Years ago, when we were 
both quite young, he wanted to marry me, and, if 
there had not been difficulties about mon^y, I think 
we should have been engaged. I feel that it is right 
to tell you that.” 

Mr. Staunton made no reply, but looked at her 
with a slight smile upon his lips ; and at length she 


HER OWN DOING. 


67 


asked, rather impatiently, “What are you think- 
ing T 

“I am thinking,’’ he answered, “that Captain 
Brooke is a most extraordinary man, and that I am 
a most fortunate one.” 

Mrs. Lindsay frowned. “ I did not mean you to 
suppose that I would marry Arthur now, if he still 
wished it. Only, experiences of that kind make a 
difference in one’s life ; one cannot be quite the 
same after them. I never pretended to be in love 
with Mr. Lindsay, and I do not pretend to be in 
love with you. That is really what I wanted to 
say.” 

“My dear Beatrice,” answered Staunton, gravely 
and kindly, “ there is no occasion for you to tell me 
what I know only too well. I wish it could be oth- 
erwise; but I see that, at least for the present, it 
cannot be otherwise. You wonder, perhaps, that 
any man should desire to marry a woman who does 
not love him; but many such marriages do take 
place ; and I don’t believe that, as a rule, they turn 
out unhappily. One thing, however, is beyond all 
question ; no woman ought to marry a man whom 
she does not love, when she is in love with some one 
else. I could not, and I will not, ask you to do that. 
I don’t pretend that to lose you would not be the 


68 


HER OWN DOING. 


heaviest misfortune that could fall upon me; but 
mj love would be worth very little if I did not value 
your happiness more than my own.” 

He paused, and for a moment his generous sug- 
gestion was not very far from being closed with ; 
but before Mrs. Lindsay could make up her mind 
what to say, he resumed : “ I may not think — and, 
as a fact, I don’t think — that Captain Brooke is very 
well suited by nature to be your husband ; he seems 
to me to be wanting in decision and strength of 
character. But that, after all, is only a matter of 
relative importance. If you care for him as much 
as I am afraid that you do, all other considerations 
become trifling. Hot only will I release you from 
your engagement to me, but I will do all in my 
power to bring about what you wish. I will speak 
to the man. I can’t believe that, having once loved 
you, he can really be indifferent — ” 

“ Please stop !” interrupted Mrs. Lindsay, holding 
up her hand ; “ you have altogether misunderstood 
me. I felt bound to let you know that I did not 
love * you, and I told you that old story because I 
thought it might explain why I did not. On second 
thoughts, I dare say it doesn’t explain it. At any 
rate, it is a very old story, which is quite over and 
done with, and we won’t refer to it again, If you 


HER OWN DOING. 


69 


are content to take me as I am no more need be 
said.” 

He bent over her hand, sighing, as he just touched 
it with his lips. I am more than content,” he said. 
“ Some day, I hope, you will love me. Even now 
I am sure that you like me, and that you trust me.” 

‘‘Yes,” she answered ; “I trust you.” 

“ Your faith will be put to the test, perhaps. 
You will be told — you are quite certain to be told — 
that I am a fortune-hunter; that I am not a good 
enough match for you ; that I am this, that, and the 
other. It isn’t always easy to treat such charges 
with contempt, and there is only one way of put- 
ting a stop to them. I want you to agree that our 
marriage shall take place soon, Beatrice.” 

Mrs. Lindsay drew back a little. “ What would 
you call soon ?” she asked. 

“ Well, I think it would be better if we were mar- 
ried quietly here at the end of the season, after all 
the gossips have departed. Neither you nor I, I 
fancy, would much like a grand wedding in London, 
and I don’t feel that I am in any way bound to sur- 
round myself with relations at the ceremony; do 
you ?” 

“ N — no,” she answered, hesitatingly. And then, 
after reflecting for a moment, “ I dare say you are 


Vo 


H^R OWN DOINO. 


rights There is no occasion for delay, and certainly 
none for festivities and rejoicings. I am afraid,” 
she added presently, smiling at him, “ that sounds 
very ungracious. I did not mean it so ; but you un- 
derstand how I feel about it, perhaps. Second mar- 
riages ought always to be quiet affairs.” 

He assured her that he understood her feelings 
as well as he understood his own ; and so, very like- 
ly, he did. The world is full of humbugs of vary- 
ing kinds and degrees ; one meets them every day ; 
and some are clever, some dull, some well-meaning, 
some cynical ; but hardly among them all will one 
be found who, in deceiving others, does not to some 
extent deceive himself also. Mr. Staunton, so far 
as he could be said to take a pride in anything (but 
in truth he was not very proud), prided himself 
upon his complete immunity from self-deception ; 
yet, as he walked away in the twilight, he felt very 
like an honest and honorable man. He was neither 
the one nor the other. He had never for an instant 
contemplated relaxing his hold upon Mrs. Lindsay 
and her fortune, and his offer to let her go free had 
been purposely worded in such a way that there had 
been no danger at all of her taking advantage of it. 
At the same time, a part of what he had said had 
been true ; for he really loved the woman whom he 


IlER OWN DOING. 


71 


intended to marry ; and these two sensations of be- 
ing in love and telling the truth were both so novel 
to him that it was no wonder if his mental balance 
was temporarily disturbed by them. 

It was promptly restored by means of a remedy 
which never failed in his case — the sudden approach 
of danger. As he left the grounds of the villa a 
loudly dressed man, with a waxed mustache and 
many rings on his fingers, stepped out into the road- 
way before him, and said, with an exaggerated bow, 
“ Good-evening, my lord. I trust I see your lord- 
ship in the enjoyment of tolerable health and 
spirits.” 

Staunton stopped short at once, and faced this 
unattractive stranger, but made no answer. 

‘‘ Oh,” said the man, “I know you, my dear Lord 
Charles, I do really ; though you have shaved off 
your beard and your hair has changed color, and 
your get-up is altogether a credit to you. Don’t be 
alarmed ; I admire your cheek beyond everything, 
and I wouldn’t spoil your little game for the world. 
But you mustn’t try to cut an old friend, you 
know\” 

“ I am not alarmed,” answered Staunton, shortly. 
“ It would scarcely be to your interest to spoil what 
you call my little game, Jarvis ; and I imagine that 


'72 


HER OWN DOING. 


your own interest is more dear to you than any- 
thing else on earth.” 

‘‘ Naturally,” agreed the other, linking his arm in 
Staunton’s and leading him down the road. “ My 
dear Lord Charles — by the way, what is your real 
name ?” 

‘‘My real name is Staunton, if that matters.” 

“ Well, my dear Staunton — so to call you — I was 
about to remark that your courage and talents have 
my warmest admiration. To pass yourself off as 
Lord Charles Templeton during a whole winter at 
a place like Florence, where the real Lord Charles, 
or one of his friends, might have turned up at any 
moment ; to mix in the highest society ; to live on 
the fat of the land ; to decamp at the end of the 
season, leaving every blessed bill unpaid, and to be 
suspected by nobody, with one unworthy exception, 
up to the last — well, that certainly was a great and 
deserved success, and I can’t wonder at your trying 
to repeat it. But aren’t you presuming just a little 
bit too much upon the imbecility of your fellow- 
creatures this time? I had the pleasure of recog- 
nizing you some days ago, and since then I have 
made it my business to find out what you were up 
to. I congratulate you. It’s a grand scheme ; but 
how you expect to be able to work it out beats me, 


HER OWN DOING. 


*73 


I confess. Rich widows are not married without 
drawing up of settlements and a full inquiry on the 
part of the family, and a deuce of a lot of delay and 
fuss ; and a bridegroom who calls himself Lord Bel- 
lingham’s cousin, when he is no more related to 
Lord Bellingham than I am, is not unlikely to hear 
the banns forbidden, I should say.” 

‘‘ That is my affair, not yours,” returned Staun- 
ton. ‘‘ Of course I am in your power, and of course 
you will extort hush-money. As soon as I am mar- 
ried you can communicate with me, and you won’t 
find me niggardly. Only I should advise you not 
to be too extravagant in your demands. If you 
stop my marriage, you kill the goose that lays the 
golden eggs; and your power to injure me after 
my marriage may be less than you imagine ; be- 
cause, unhappily, it is almost inevitable that my 
wife should discover, sooner or later, that I have de- 
ceived her to some extent.” 

“ My dear Staunton, you quite affect me. I can’t 
bear to think of your distress when your wife dis- 
covers that you have deceived her to some extent. 
As for my being extortionate, pray believe that I 
shall never be that. A small loan, from time to 
time, is all that I shall request of you. A small loan 
— say a couple of hundred — is all that I request now.” 


her own doino. 


M 

“Out of the question, Jarvis. I swear to you 
that a hundred and twenty-five pounds is the sum- 
total of my worldly possessions.” 

“ My good-nature will be the ruin of me !” sighed 
the other. “ But that is what I am ; I never could 
bring myself to be hard upon a friend. I’ll take a 
hundred, and be off to Monte Carlo by the next 
train.” 

The contest that followed was long and animated ; 
but in the end Mr. Jarvis, whose arguments were 
practically unanswerable, carried his point. He ac- 
companied his friend to the hotel in which the lat- 
ter was staying, where French notes to the value of 
a hundred pounds were duly counted out to him, 
and, having stowed away the booty securely in the 
breast-pocket of his coat, prepared to depart. 

“I am unwilling to leave you, my dear Temple- 
ton-Staunton,” said he ; “ but it is some consolation 
to know that you are not unwilling to be left. In 
return for your comparative liberality, I have ^ 
piece of information to give you which may be 
found of interest. Your relative. Lord Bellingham, 
will arrive here the day after to-morrow. I was 
sitting behind him in the gardens at Monte Carlo 
yesterday, and I heard all about it. He doesn’t 
want to come to Cannes; but he is travelling with 


I 


fiER OWN DOING. 


76 

a friend of the name of Warde, who does. They 
will only stay one night, and on that night they 
will be present at a party given by a certain Mrs. 
Yane, who, as I understand, is connected with your 
fascinating widow. Does your lordship smell a rat? 
It seems to me that I do, and I should strongly ad- 
vise you to be called away on urgent business for 
a day or two. You may, on your return, find that 
your cousin, who has a shocking bad memory^ has 
denied all knowledge of you ; but even that would 
be a little less awkward than meeting him face to 
face. Good-bye. May you live long and prosper I” 


CHAPTER YI. 


It will be perceived from the foregoing conversa- 
tion that Mr. Staunton was no better than a swindler. 
Yet, like other sinners, he had his good qualities; 
and among these was that most excellent quality 
of courage, without which all the other virtues put 
together make but a poor show. He was, perhaps, 
a hero gone wrong ; at any rate, he had the heroic 
attribute of loving danger for danger’s sake, and it 
never for a moment entered into his mind to turn 
tail, as Jarvis advised. Nevertheless, he by no 
means under-estimated the peril which now threat- 
ened him. He had suspected all along that Mrs. 
Yane was less friendly to him than she appeared to 
be; he knew that all Cannes was to be present at 
the evening reception which she was about to hold ; 
and, re'raembering that, only the day before, she 
had laughingly lamented the dearth of men, and 
had implored him to come early and stay late, with- 
out saying a word about the expected arrival of 
Lord Bellingham, he divined easily enough the plot 


HER OWN DOING. 


*in 


which she had laid for his discomfiture. Her plot 
must inevitably have succeeded, but for the oppor- 
tune appearance of Jarvis ; and the loss of a hun- 
dred pounds, serious though that was, was amply 
atoned for in Mr. Staunton’s eyes by a piece of in- 
formation which might save him the prospective 
loss of many thousands a year. 

The direction which his counter-mine must take 
was speedily decided upon. It is obvious that those 
who do not intend to run away must face the ene- 
my, and when the enemy is to be faced, it is gener- 
ally best to advance against him, instead of awaiting 
his attack. This, in a metaphorical sense (for it 
need hardly be said that peace, not war, was his 
aim), Mr. Staunton made up his mind to do. He 
determined that he would seek out and conciliate 
Lord Bellingham, and, with the self-reliance of true 
genius, left the means of accomplishing his purpose 
to shape themselves in accordance with the manner 
of his reception, and the character of the man with 
whom he should be called upon to deal. 

The next day but one found him sauntering up 
and down the platform of the railway-station on the 
arrival of the express from the eastward, and when 
he saw a tall, fair-haired youth of the “masher” 
type get out of a smoking-carriage, followed by ^ 


78 


HER OWN DOING. 


merry-looking, round-faced little man, apparently 
his senior by some years, he felt little doubt but 
that these were the travellers of whom he was in 
search. A valet, who came up presently, addressed 
the fair-haired youth as “ my lord,” and Mr. Staun- 
ton, having seen the party take their places in the 
omnibus belonging to the Hotel Continental, on the 
' top of which were piled many portmanteaus marked 
with a large B., strolled away, satisfied with the 
result of his reconnaissance. About an hour later 
he was at the Hotel Continental, inquiring for Lord 
Bellingham, and immediately afterwards he was 
shown into the presence of the young nobleman in 
question, whom he was not sorry to find alone. 

‘^How do you do?” said Staunton, holding out 
his hand, which the other at once took. “ I must 
apologize for looking you up so soon after your ar- 
rival ; but the truth is that I am sent by my friend, 
Mrs. Yane, to remind you that she expects to see 
you at her party this evening.” 

^‘Oh — thanks, awfully,” answered Lord Belling- 
ham. “I hadn’t forgotten, though. In point of 
fact, I have been brought here on purpose to go to 
this party. I don’t know Mrs. Yane myself; but 
the man whom I am travelling with does, and he 
rather made a point of our stopping here to see her. 


HER OWN DOING. 


79 


Won’t you sit down and smoke a cigarette? Aw- 
fully hot, isn’t it ? I’ll just ring and tell them to 
bring something to drink.” 

Staunton gladly accepted this proposition, and in 
less than ten minutes he and his entertainer were 
upon the best of terms. It has already been said 
that he possessed in a remarkable degree the power 
of suiting himself to his company, and it required 
no great penetration to guess what kind of man 
Lord Bellingham would be likely to consider a good 
fellow. Into such a man Mr. Staunton promptly 
became transformed. He spoke in familiar terms 
of several prominent racing men ; he knew exactly 
why the favorite had not pulled off the City and 
Suburban; he had acquired, and was willing to com- 
municate, a grand receipt for the manufacture of 
champagne cocktails ; and, while preparing this en- 
ticing beverage, sent his companion off into shrieks 
of laughter by narrating a story about a well-known 
actress, which was not only extremely amusing, but 
quite new — as indeed it could hardly fail to be, see- 
ing that he had invented it upon the spur of the 
moment. 

It was only when Lord Bellingham remarked. 
We are namesakes, I see ; but I suppose we aren’t 
related, are we ?” that he answered carelessly, “ Well, 


80 


HER OWN DOING. 


as a matter of fact, I believe we are. That is, I am 
descended from your great-grandfather, one of whose 
sons emigrated to Canada, where I was born. Most 
likely you never heard of our branch of the family.” 

‘‘ Can’t say I ever did,” Lord Bellingham con- 
fessed. As a general thing,” he added, meditative- 
ly, and with a touch of irony which was assuredly 
not intentional, ‘‘ if one has any relations in out- 
of-the-way places, they write and say so, don’t you 
know.” 

At this moment Mr. Warde came in, and in reply 
to his quick, interrogative glance at the stranger. 
Lord Bellingham said: “Warde, let me introduce 
you to Mr. Staunton. We have just found out that 
we are connections — had the same grandmother, or 
something.” 

The frank cordiality of Mr.Warde’s greeting was 
very reassuring to Mr. Staunton, who had not been 
free from disquieting doubts as to how far Mrs. 
Yane’s friend might have been taken into her con- 
fidence. A very few questions and answers made 
it evident that that lady had kept her own counsel, 
with a view, no doubt, to insuring and enjoying a 
more effective triumph ; and Staunton, who had thus 
far been successful beyond his hopes, felt very much 
inclined to abandon the resolution which he had. 


HER OWN DOING. 


81 


made to prevent Lord Bellingham from putting in 
an appearance at the party. To walk boldly into 
the room in company with that easy-going person- 
age, and to obtain a public recognition of relation- 
ship from him, would be a victory indeed. It was 
quite trUe that a member of the Staunton family 
had emigrated to Canada in the latter part of the 
eighteenth century; but it was not true that he had 
left any descendants. Moreover, it would not quite 
have suited our friend to be spoken of as belonging 
to this far-away branch ; for, although he had never 
stated in so many words that he was first cousin to 
the present holder of the title, he had certainly al- 
lowed as much to be inferred. It seemed best, there- 
fore, to put away the seductive notion of hoisting 
Mrs. Yane with her own petard, and to revert to the 
simpler and safer expedient of keeping her petard 
out of her reach. 

“ About what time did you think of going to this 
entertainment to-night?” he asked, as he rose and 
picked up his hat and stick. 

Lord Bellingham yawned. “I hadn’t thought 
about it,” said he. “ It’s no end of a grind having 
to go there at all; especially as we most be off the 
first thing in the morning. What time ought we to 
show ourselves ? Eleven o’clock ?” 

6 


82 


HER OWN DOING. 


Oh, a little earlier than that, I think,” answered 
Staunton ; people don’t keep very late hours here. 
You had better both come and dine with me at my 
hotel about half-past seven, and we will all go on 
together afterwards. I don’t promise to give you a 
very first-class dinner ; but the champagne is drink- 
able.” 

It is not every man who would care to accept hos- 
pitality from a total stranger, even though that stran- 
ger should claim to be distantly connected with him ; 
but Lord Bellingham was neither suspicious nor over 
particular. ‘‘ All right,” he said ; “ thanks very much. 
We’ll be with you at half-past seven, sharp. Don’t 
give us too much of your good champagne, that’s 
all; we musn’t create a scandal in the society of 
Cannes on our first and only appearance in it.” 

To give Lord Bellingham plenty of champagne 
was, however, exactly what Mr. Staunton proposed 
to do. Indeed, it was by that means that he hoped 
to avoid the creation of a scandal. He went back 
to his hotel in very good spirits to order dinner, and, 
chancing to encounter Arthur Brooke at the door, 
said, with a friendly nod : 

“We shall meet at Mrs.Yane’s to-night, I sup- 
pose ? What do you think of sharing a carriage to 
drive up there ? My cousin Bellingham and a friend 


HER OWN DOING. 


83 


of his are coming to dine with me, so that we should 
just fill the trap.” 

Captain Brooke’s countenance fell perceptibly. 
Mrs. Yane was mistaken then, and this man really 
was Lord Bellingham’s cousin, after all ! It was a 
great disappointment, and he could not help show- 
ing it ; but he replied mechanically to Staunton’s 
proposal that he should be delighted. 

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind just looking 
in and telling us when it’s time to start,” said the 
latter. “ I won’t ask you to join us at dinner,” he 
added, confidentially, “ because I know Bellingham 
is the sort of man that would bore you. He rather 
bores me too, for there is nothing that I detest so 
much as the practical jokes and bear-fighting which 
are his idea of amusement ; but of course one must 
show some civility to one’s own fiesh and blood. 
Au revoir /” And, with a wave of his hand, he dis- 
appeared. 

The study of comparative physiology is beginning 
to find favor with a generation which is enamoured 
of all the ologies ; but it has made little progress 
as yet. Those who have attained to some practical 
mastery of that science are scarcely found among 
the ranks of the learned, and are for the most part 
disposed to apply their knowledge rather to the 


84 


HER OWN DOING. 


lower orders of creation than to its lords. Many 
men will be able to tell you, almost at a glance, what 
are the peculiarities of disposition to be expected 
from a given horse or dog ; but not many have Mr. 
Staunton’s facility for classifying the human sub- 
ject, although the indications are not less clear in 
the one case than in the other. When he informed 
Arthur Brooke that Lord Bellingham w^as given to 
practical jokes and bear-fighting, he was not draw- 
ing upon his imagination. He felt absolutely con- 
vinced that such must be the tastes of this young 
man; and during the course of dinner he made it 
his business to gratify them. 

A cordial understanding having been firmly es- 
tablished by means of champagne, racy anecdotes, 
and divers feats of legerdemain, performed with 
forks, corks, bottles, and glasses, it was easy to per- 
suade Mr. Warde (obviously a most good-natured 
person) to pick up a biscuit from the floor, and to 
profit by his stooping attitude to drop a morsel of 
ice down his back. If any doubt had remained in 
Lord Bellingham’s mind as to Staunton’s being quite 
one of the right sort, this exquisite piece of wit 
would have dissipated it. From that moment the 
fun became fast and furious, and the uproar which 
proceeded from the sitting-room of a gentleman 


HER OWN DOING. 


85 


whose conduct had hitherto been exemplary in all 
respects caused no small astonishment amoiig the 
other inmates of the hotel. Warde, to revenge him- 
self, could do no less than take the first opportunity 
of deftly pulling Mr. Staunton’s chair from under 
him. Then Lord Bellingham proposed cock-fight- 
ing, and showed himself a proficient in that form of 
combat. A little later a steeple - chase round the 
room on all -fours was organized, the fences being 
represented by chairs and the water-jump by Mr. 
Staunton’s bath ; and all this time fresh supplies of 
champagne were being constantly brought in by the 
grinning waiters. 

Altogether, it was a merry meeting, and two mem- 
bers of the trio thoroughly enjoyed it. The third, 
despite his smiling countenance, was not quite so 
happy. The evening was fast slipping away ; the 
hour mentioned on Mrs. Yane’s invitation-cards had 
already passed ; and Lord Bellingham, deep though 
his potations had been, was very far from being tip- 
sy. The rules of physiology are not free from those 
exceptions for which every earnest seeker after truth 
must be prepared. By rights Lord Bellingham 
should have had a weak head ; Nature, without 
rhyme or reason, had given him a strong one. Ex- 
hilarated he was, but not at all intoxicated, nor unfit 


86 


HEE OWN DOING. 


to enter Mrs. Yane’s drawing-room. He was still 
capable of galloping round the room on his hands 
and feet ; he could not be made to fall into the wa- 
ter-jump ; and it was plain that some other method 
of keeping him out of society must be devised than 
that of rendering him temporarily unconscious. 

It was while Staunton was anxiously turning over 
divers expedients in his mind that the door opened, 
and Captain Brooke, with a frowning countenance, 
entered. “I am sorry to disturb you,” said he; 

but it is a quarter to eleven, and the carriage has 
been waiting for the last half-hour.” 

“Hullo, Brooke !” cried Staunton, cheerily. 
“Come in and sit down. I don’t know whether 
you have met Bellingham and Warde before ? Have 
a glass of champagne.” 

“ 'No, thank you,” answered Arthur, stiffly. “We 
really ought to be going ; it’s a quarter to eleven, 
and — ” 

“ All right,” broke in Staunton ; “ heaps of time ! 
I say, Bellingham, did you ever play the game of 
Spoof?” 

“Ho,” answered his lordship, with an anticipatory 
chuckle ; “ what is it ?” 

“ I’ll teach you. Capital game, and very simple, 
if you remember the rules. We all lay you a fiver 


HER OWN DOING. 


87 


to one, and you mark. Do you see? Very well; 
we each begin by claiming something. For in- 
stance, I claim your coat. Take it off.” 

Oh, come now, I say, bar sells !” said Lord Bel- 
lingham, laughing. 

It’s all right, my dear fellow ; you’ll see how it 
works presently. Off with your coat !” 

Lord Bellingham, still laughing, obeyed, and 
Staunton took possession of the discarded garment. 
‘‘Now, Brooke,” said he, “it’s your turn. What do 
you claim ?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know — claim his shoes,” answered 
Captain Brooke, to whom all this was very distaste- 
ful. 

“ Take ’em off,” said Staunton, briskly. “ Your 
turn, Warde.” 

“ I claim his br — ” 

“ No, no !” interrupted Staunton ; “ we must draw 
the line somewhere.” 

“ Well, then, 1 claim his waistcoat.” 

“ Take it off. Let me see — his coat, his waist- 
coat, and his shoes. Yes, I think that will be 
enough,” murmured the introducer of this fascinat- 
ing game, musingly. “ I must have another man to 
come out of the room with me, though. Brooke, 
would you mind coming ? I’ll be with you again in 


88 


HER OWN DOING. 


half a second,” he added, nodding reassuringly to 
Lord Bellingham, who was staring at him open- 
mouthed. 

Without more ado he caught Arthur by the arm, 
hurried him out of the room, and, the moment the 
door was shut, rushed down-stairs, across the hall, 
and into the carriage with him before his aston- 
ished prisoner could draw breath. 

“ What the devil ! confound it all ! what do you 
mean by this?” gasped Captain Brooke, indignant- 
ly, while he was being driven at a smart pace down 
the street. 

“ My dear Brooke,” answered Staunton, I apol- 
ogize most sincerely to you for my want of cere- 
mony; my only excuse is that there really was 
nothing else to be done. Didn’t you see that the 
man was perfectly drunk? I couldn’t have taken 
him to Mrs. Yane’s house in that condition ; I 
should never have dared to look her in the face 
again. I’m only thankful that my little stratagem 
succeeded so well. He’ll be in a great rage; but 
he can’t come after us without his clothes, and he’ll 
end by returning to his hotel and going to bed, 
which is the best place for him. We must tell Mrs. 
Vane that he isn’t quite well.” 

Arthur was not convinced that Lord Bellingham 


HER OWN DOING. 


89 


had been drunk, but neither was he quite prepared 
to maintain the contrary. He did not at the mo- 
ment see that Staunton could have any reason, save 
the one assigned, for acting as he had done. It 
seemed to be beyond a doubt that Lord Bellingham 
was really his cousin, and that Mrs. Yane’s plot 
must in any case have failed. Therefore he only 
remarked, rather sullenly, “ You had better under- 
take the excuses ; I’m not particularly clever at 
humbugging people myself.” 

“ You seem to imply that I am,” observed Staun- 
ton, with a good-humored laugh. “ You mean, per- 
haps, that I humbugged poor Bellingham by pre- 
tending to enjoy cock-fighting and jumping over 
the furniture, and all the rest of it. Well, I cer- 
tainly do not enjoy disporting myself in that way, 
and I have spent a very fatiguing evening. If Mrs. 
Yane knew what trouble I have taken to save her 
from a little annoyance she would be grateful, I 
hope.” 

Being without the information referred to, Mrs. 
Yane naturally felt no gratitude to her tardy guest, 
nor was she any better pleased with him when he 
explained that he was the bearer of an apology from 
Lord Bellingham. She perceived at once that she 
had been outwitted, and while she was smilingly ex- 


90 


HER OWN DOING. 


pressing her regrets to Mr. Staunton, she was saying 
within herself, ‘‘ If I don’t pay you out for this be- 
fore I have done with you, ray friend, I ara a duller 
woman than most people are kind enough to think 
me, that’s all !” She was less easily taken in than 
Arthur Brooke, who, when driven into a corner and 
catechised, could not deny that it was by his so-called 
cousin that Lord Bellingham had been prevented 
from keeping his engagement. 

“ The swindler is an uncommonly clever swindler,” 
Mrs.Yane said, after she had extorted from Arthur 
all the information that she wanted. “ He has scored 
against me this time, I admit ; but he need not flat- 
ter himself that I am beaten. Depend upon it, if 
Lord Bellingham had been any relation of his, he 
would have brought him here, and taken good care 
to keep him sober. At any rate, the question will 
soon be set at rest; for I shall send a note to Mr. 
Warde, and request a categorical reply.” 

She was as good as her word ; and her inquiries 
were perused in the train, on the following morning, 
by Mr. Warde, while his companion tore open and 
read a note which had been handed to him at the 
last moment 


My dear Bellingham ” (the latter communica* 


HER OWN DOING. 


91 


tion ran), — “ I hope you got your clothes back all 
right last night, and that you did not much regret 
being unable to attend one of the slowest parties it- 
has ever been my misfortune to assist at. To tell 
you the honest truth, I had laid another fellow two 
tenners to one that you wouldn’t show at Mrs. Yane’s. 
For the last fortnight she has been bragging that 
you were coming here on purpose to be present at 
her dismal gathering, and I confess that I didn’t be- 
lieve that you, or anybody else, would be so aston- 
ishingly good-natured. Hence the wager, and the 
slight inconvenience to which I was obliged to put 
you. I think you would have been amused if you 
had seen the old woman’s face when I told her that 
you didn’t feel up to the fatigue of paying your re- 
spects to her. With many apologies, 

“ Yours very truly, 

‘‘George Statjnton.” 

Lord Bellingham was certainly very good-natured. 
He had been somewhat incensed overnight by the 
trick played upon him ; but the explanation given 
appeased his wrath, and he maintained his opinion 
that Staunton was one of the right sort, in spite of 
sundry doubts expressed by his friend Warde. The 
latter wrote a long letter to Mrs. Yane from London, 


92 


HER OWN DOING. 


in which no mention was made of the interesting 
game of Spoof, and Staunton was only incidentally 
alluded to. “Bellingham says he believes that the 
man is a sort of a cousin of his,” he wrote ; “ but 
doesn’t know much about him. He seemed to be a 
cool customer — not a bad fellow, though, on the 
whole.” 

This evidence, so far as it went, was plainly rather 
in favor of the accused than against him, and Mrs. 
Yane, much disappointed, saw that she could make 
no use of it. 


CHAPTER YIT. 


In small communities, made up of people without 
regular occupation, no incident, however trivial, can 
escape notice. It was soon known that Lord Bel- 
lingham had passed through Cannes, and that he had 
chosen to spend his one evening there with his 
cousin, rather than at Mrs. Yane’s reception. This 
circumstance served to strengthen Staunton’s posi- 
tion ; it seemed to show that he was upon good 
terms with his family, and made people feel that 
his approaching marriage with the rich Mrs. Lind- 
say, which was no longer even a nominal secret, 
would not, after all, be a mhalliomce. What was 
still a secret from the gossips was that the wedding- 
day had been actually fixed, and that the ceremony 
was to take place at Cannes in a few weeks’ time. 
This intelligence had been provisionally kept even 
from Captain Brooke; nor would Mrs. Yane have 
been informed of it had it been possible to conceal 
the existence of such a project from the ladies’- 
maids, those terrible detectives of domestic life. 


94 


HER OWN DOING. 


When Mrs. Yane’s maid, albeit sworn to secrecy, let 
the cat out of the bag, her mistress, in genuine con- 
sternation, hurried off to the Yilla des Chataigniers 
to protest against what she did not hesitate to call 
an act of downright lunacy. 

“My dear Beatrice,” said she, “you can’t accuse 
me of having uttered one word in opposition to your 
engagement until now. I may have had my own 
opinions about it ; but I have kept them to myself. If 
you prefer a m^n about whose antecedents you are 
absolutely ignorant to certain others whom I could 
name, and who have not only adored you for years, 
but can show an unblemished record, that is your 
affair. But if yon must and will marry Mr. Staun- 
ton, for Heaven’s sake let it be done in the light of 
day ! Don’t allow yourself to be inveigled into a 
hole-and-corner marriage. Why should he wish for 
it ? Why should he object to be married in England, 
like other people? You must pardon my saying 
that to me it has an uncommonly fishy look. What 
if you should discover, too late, that he has a wife 
and six children elsewhere? What if you should 
discover — ” 

“ I can’t listen to this !” exclaimed Mrs. Lindsay. 
“ If you had such horrid suspicions of Mr. Staunton, 
why didn’t you announce them a little sooner ? You 


HER OWN DOING. 9f> 

should not have pretended to like him, and to think 
that I had done wisely in accepting him, if you were 
really against him all the time. As for our being 
married abroad, that is as much my wish as his. He 
has been very kind to me ; I am sincerely attached 
to him ; and I can’t imagine who are the people of 
unblemished record who, as you say, have ‘ adored 
me for years.’ ” 

“I used the plural number for oratorical pur- 
poses,” answered Mrs. Yane, with a laugh. ‘‘ Strict- 
ly speaking, I should have kept to the singular, and 
said ‘a person.’ The more so, as he is a decidedly 
singular person to go on adoring you after the way 
in which you have treated him.” 

“ There is no such person,” returned Mrs. Lindsay, 
impatiently. “ You let your imagination run away 
with you. You are always taking it into your head 
that certain couples are suited to each other, and 
you will have it that they must want to marry, 
wljereas, in reality, they probably want nothing of 
the sort. I only hope that you won’t be so in- 
considerate as to speak in this way to — to any one 
else.” 

Considerately or inconsiderately, that was what 
Mrs. Yane intended to do. She went home, sum- 
moned Captain Brooke without further delay, and 


HER OWN DOING. 


informed him of the very serious turn that matters 
had taken. 

“We can’t afford to beat about the bush any 
longer, Arthur,” she said. “ I have no idea of al- 
lowing both you and Beatrice to be made miserable 
for want of a little plain speaking. You have both 
been rather foolish. You were foolish not to pro- 
pose to her as soon as you came here, and she w^as 
foolish to engage herself to this man out of pique. 
Fortunately, however, no irreparable act of folly has 
been committed yet. It would have been pleasanter 
to bring you together in a more leisurely and diplo- 
matic fashion, and I should have been glad to put 
the estimable Staunton to the humiliation of a pub- 
lic exposure; but we shall have to forego these 
luxuries; there really isn’t time for them. You 
must pocket your pride, go straight to Beatrice, and 
have a full explanation. Now don’t begin arguing, 
because I sha’n’t listen to you, but be off as fast as 
you can.” 

Captain Brooke obeyed, with a mental reservation. 
For reasons which seemed to him sufficient, he was 
determined not to reveal the state of his personal 
feelings to his cousin ; but he was quite equally de- 
termined that she should not marry Staunton, if he 
could prevent her from doing so. When he reached 


HER OWN DOING. 


91 


the Yilla des Chdtaigniers his task was made easy 
for him by Mrs. Lindsay, who said at once : 

“I can see from your face what has brought you 
here. Mrs. Yane has sent you to tell me that it isn’t 
at all the proper thing to be married at Cannes.” 

“ I have heard from Mrs. Yane,” answered Arthur, 
what I must say that I should have expected to 
hear from you. Whether you are to be married at 
Cannes or elsewhere, I cannot see why you should 
make a mystery of your intentions.” 

‘‘ I waited until everything was settled before 
telling you,” returned Mrs. Lindsay, “because I 
knew that you would object. And it is evident 
that you do object.” 

“ I certainly do. If it were only that you wished 
to be married quietly, I should have nothing more 
to say ; but I can’t help taking into considera- 
tion that Staunton is still virtually a stranger to 
you.” 

“ Exactly so. Your objection is to him, not to 
my being married in one place rather than an- 
other.” 

“ My objection is to your doing anything in haste. 
It is only fair and right that we should ask Mr. 
Staunton to give some more exact account of him- 
self than we have had from him yet. He may be a 


HER OWN DOING. 


gentleman and an honest man ; but then, again, he 
may not. Perhaps I had better be frank, at the 
risk of making you angry, and say that I fear he is 
not.” 

“ Have you any reason in the world for doubting 
him, Arthur?” 

“ Yes ; several. I will mention one which, to my 
mind, is very significant : he dyes his hair.” 

“I don’t believe it for a moment. And what if 
he does ?” 

“ He most undoubtedly does ; and unless his mo- 
tive is to disguise himself, it would be interesting to 
know what his motive is. Will you ask him that 
question ?” 

“ Ho,” answered Mrs. Lindsay, firmly, I will not. 
I did not accept him because his hair was black, and 
I should not have refused him if it had been scarlet. 
I dare say you think that you are doing your duty 
by putting obstacles in the way of my marriage, 
Arthur — or, at any rate, Mrs. Yane, who instigates 
you, thinks so — but really, if you will believe me, 
you are only wasting time and breath. I have made 
up my mind, and 1 shall not alter it now.” 

And, indeed, he found that there was no persuad- 
ing her to alter it. He began by being very cool, 
quiet, and sensible ; but by degrees he lost hold of 


HER OWN DOING. 


99 


himself, descended from counsel to entreaty, and 
ended by breaking out into a declaration which he 
had resolved that nothing should induce him to make. 

Beatrice,” he exclaimed, “ I can’t bear to see you 
sacrifice yourself in this way ! I don’t believe that 
you have any real love for Staunton, and I know 
that you once cared for me a little. I have never 
ceased to love you. I would not tell you so before, 
because, even if you had been willing to accept me, 
it seemed to me that I could not marry you and live 
upon Mr. Lindsay’s money. But now I don’t know 
that I was not wrong. With me you would at least 
be safe ; you would know that, so far from wanting 
your fortune, I would a great deal rather that you 
had none; and though I should have nothing to 
offer you but love, I am not sure that that is a thing 
to be despised. Beatrice — is it too late ?” 

She turned a little pale, but answered, firmly, 
“Yes, Arthur, it is too late. You yourself would 
not think very well of any other woman who broke 
her word as you ask me to break mine, and if I had 
known what you were going to say, I should have 
stopped you. But there is no reason why we should 
not always be friends. About Mr. Staunton it is 
impossible that we should agree, because I believe 
in him and you don’t. You can’t give any ground 


100 


HER OWN DOING. 


for jour suspicions, except an absurd assertion that 
he djes his hair — ” 

“ Nor can you for jour faith,” interrupted Ar- 
thur, eagerly. “ Allow me, and allow yourself, a 
little more time to make inquiries. That is all that 
I ask for; and surely it is a reasonable enough re- 
quest 

Mrs. Lindsay, however, would not admit it to be 
so. People of weak resolution are seldom open to 
argument or persuasion : what they require, and, in- 
deed, prefer, is to receive commands. Arthur, who 
did not feel himself entitled to take up a command- 
ing tone with his cousin, pleaded in vain for delay, 
and went away at last with a heavy heart, having 
completely failed in his mission. The only hope 
that remained to him was that in the course of the 
next few weeks some chance clew might be ob- 
tained to the story of Staunton’s past career; and 
when he considered how remote he was from all 
the ordinary sources of information, that hope 
seemed to him almost too forlorn a one to be worth 
taking into account. 


CHAPTEK YIII. 


Meanwhile, Mr. Staunton, who seemed to be 
carrying everything before him, was really in a po- 
sition of no slight diflSculty and embarrassment. 
He had spoken nothing but the truth in asserting 
that £125 was all the ready money that he possessed 
in the world ; and when he was relieved of four 
fifths of that amount by the inexorable Jarvis, it 
was quite clear to him that he would ere long be 
compelled to beg, borrow, or steal. To live upon 
credit for an indefinite time is perfectly possible, so 
far as the major expenses of life are concerned ; but 
no man can get on without a certain outlay of 
pocket-money. Staunton’s five-and-twenty pounds 
were soon reduced to ten ; and it was while he 
was ruefully contemplating, one morning, the hand- 
ful of gold coins which represented his entire 
capital that a knock at his door was followed by 
the entrance of the landlord of the hotel, who 
came, with profuse bows, and still more profuse 
apologies, to request payment of a bill which 


102 


HER OWN DOING. 


had now been running on for upwards of two 
months. 

Staunton laughed, and glanced at the portentous- 
ly long document in question. “I am quite 
ashamed of my forgetfulness,” said he; “but really 
I am afraid I have hardly money enough by me to 
pay you this morning. I shall be receiving remit- 
tances from home in a day or two, and then, if you 
will be so good as to remind me again, I will dis- 
charge my debt.” 

This was said in such an easy, matter-of-course 
tone that the landlord, though much tempted to ask 
for a small sum on account, lacked the courage to 
do so, and withdrew, redoubling his bows and apolo- 
gies. 

He left behind him an ingenious gentleman in 
sore perplexity. Staunton was aware that, if the 
worst came to the worst, he might borrow what he 
required from Mrs. Lindsay, to whom he had never 
pretended that he was a rich man, and who, he felt 
sure, would be easily deceived by some trumped-up 
story about an unexpected demand upon his re- 
sources; but, oddly enough, the meanness of that 
expedient repelled him. His love for Beatrice may 
not have been worth much ; but, so far as it went, 
it was genuine. He dreaded lowering himself in 


HER OWN DOING. 


lOS 


her esteem ; since his meeting with Lord Belling- 
ham he had begun to hope that she might be kept 
all her life in ignorance of his true origin ; and he 
fully intended to be a kind and faithful husband to 
her. Therefore, although his conscience did not 
forbid him to marry her under false colors, he felt 
unable to beg her for a loan to pay his hotel bill. 
Not many of us, let us hope, are potential swindlers ; 
but it is possible that some of us may be as illogical 
in our scruples as Mr. Staunton. 

After a time, an alternative course suggested it- 
self to him. It was a somewhat risky one; but a 
man whose whole existence had for years been one 
long risk was scarcely likely to be deterred from 
adopting it on that account. He glanced at his 
watch, strolled down to the station, and took the 
afternoon train for Monte Carlo with a heart al- 
most as light as his pocket. He felt that he was 
entering the lists against fortune under exception- 
ally favorable conditions; because there was no 
telling what sums might not be won by ten stakes 
of a pound each ; whereas it was certain that he 
could not really lose, since a capital of ten pounds 
and a capital of zero are, for all practical purposes, 
much the same thing. 

This, at least, was what he said to himself while 


104 


HER OWN DOING. 


smoking a cigarette in the railway carriage ; but his 
views became somewhat modified when the rake of 
the indifferent croupier drew away the last of his 
gold pieces. At that moment he felt that a farther 
capital of ten pounds would have been invaluable 
to him. Ordinarily lucky at all games of chance, 
he was convinced that the sharp run of adverse 
fortune which had caused him to lose his stake each 
time that he laid it down must, in the nature of 
things, be followed by a run of success, and imme- 
diately after his compulsory retirement from the 
tables he had the mortification of seeing the change 
which he had anticipated take place. It was a mat- 
ter of sheer necessity that he should carry some 
money away with him, and he glanced quickly 
round the room in search of an acquaintance from 
whom he might borrow a few napoleons. As 
chance would have it, the only familiar countenance 
that he discerned was that of a gentleman with a 
waxed mustache, who had already noticed him, 
and who now responded to his nod by an affable 
wave of the hand. 

“How is the amiable and talented Mr. Staun- 
ton?” inquired this person, jocosely; “and what 
has he come to this lovely retreat for? To gather 
orange-blossoms ?” 


HER OWN DOING. 


106 


“ Look here, Jarvis,” said Staunton, in a rapid un- 
dertone, “I must have some money. Pm dead 
broke — just lost my last penny. Give me twenty 
pounds, and I’ll pay you back before the evening is 
over.” 

Jarvis shook his head reprovingly. “ This is not 
what I should have expected from a man of your 
sagacity,” answered he. “ You ought to know that 
I have the honor to belong to the borrowing, not 
to the lending, division. Apply elsewhere, my too- 
confiding friend.” 

‘‘ For the moment I have nowhere else to apply,” 
returned Staunton, impatiently. “ The hotel people 
at Cannes have begun to press for payment, and un- 
less I can stop their mouths, there will be a row 
which may very likely cause my engagement to be 
broken off. That, I presume, would not suit your 
book.” 

Mr. Jarvis continued to shake his head. “ Al- 
ways reckless! always improvident I” he exclaimed, 
lifting his hands with mock solemnity. “And then 
you come to a poor devil like me to ask for money ! 
Does the lovely and accomplished widaw decline to 
part, then?” 

But Mr. Staunton was not in the mood to put up 
with delicate badinage of this kind. “I don’t 


106 


HER OWN DOING. 


know whether you are aware, Jarvis,” said he, quiet- 
ly, “that I could with very great ease give you such 
a thrashing as would prevent your showing that im- 
pudent face of yours in public for a week or so. If 
you say another disrespectful word about that lady, 
ril do it. As for the money, you may judge for 
yourself whether it isn’t worth your while to risk a 
few pounds out of that hundred that I gave you the 
other day.” 

Perhaps Mr. Jarvis concluded that it would 
be worth his while ; possibly, also, the menacing 
look in the other’s eye may have had some effect 
upon him; for his personal courage was not of a 
high order. At any rate, he produced a hundred 
francs from his pocket, and Staunton, taking posses- 
sion of this small sum, returned to the tables. 

As matters fell out, a fifth of it would have suf- 
ficed to bring about the desired result. From the 
moment that Staunton’s first stake of one napoleon 
was returned to him doubled, he never ceased to win 
until he rose from his chair. The pile of notes and 
gold before him soon reached imposing dimensions; 
the attention of the bystanders became riveted 
upon this impassive gambler, who, playing with cal- 
culated audacity, backing one color until the chances 
were strongly against its passing again, and revers- 


HER OWN DOING. 


107 


ing his tactics, as if by instinct, just when a change 
came, seemed to be incapable of losing, whether his 
stakes were heavy or light. His calm demeanor 
showed a marked contrast to that of Jarvis, who, 
with trembling fingers and finshed cheeks, was fol- 
lowing his lead, and who was half enchanted with 
his own gains, half furious with himself for being 
too timid to imitate his model’s boldest strokes. 

After something over an hour’s play Staunton 
gathered together his spoil, got up quietly, and 
walked away. He had now realized a sum sufficient 
not only to pay his hotel bill, but to leave him a com- 
fortable balance in hand, and, with rare moderation, 
he decided to pause in the moment of victory. 
Jarvis hurried after him, gasping and protesting. 
A tall, gray-bearded man, who for some time past 
had been scrutinizing the pair curiously from the 
background, followed them out of the building and 
into the gardens. 

“ You lunatic !” Jarvis exclaimed ; “ what are you 
dreaming about to desert your luck like this ? It 
w’as good to last another half-hour! You might 
have bi^oke the bank I — you might have — ” 

“Lost all that I had won,” interrupted Staunton, 
coldly. “ I have attained my object, and I am satis- 
fied. Also I want to catch the 8.30 train to Cannes. 


108 


HER OWN DOING. 


Here are your hundred francs. And now, Jarvis, 1 
have a word or two to say to you. Don’t run away 
with the idea that you have found an inexhaustible 
mine of wealth in me. I may be worth something 
to you, or I may be worth nothing at all ; it just de- 
pends upon how much or how little my wife may 
happen to discover about ray past adventures after 
we are married. I need hardly say that I shall not 
pay you blackmail out of pure love for you. If 
you become a nuisance, I shall either deny your 
statements in toto — and you will have to bring very 
convincing proofs in order to be believed — or I shall 
take the wind out of your sails by confessing the 
truth to her on my own account. I hope I make 
myself clear.” 

“ You do, ray lord,” answered Jarvis, resuming his 
customary tone of cumbrous irony. “ You may rely 
on my discretion ; and as for my modesty, you have 
already had abundant evidence of that. It grieved 
me to see you turn your back upon your luck just 
now ; but I am beginning to feel that all is for the best. 
If you are contented, so am I. Go in peace, and rest 
assured that no one will read the announcement of 
your nuptials with more heartfelt satisfaction than 
your humble servant. Should you be in need of a 
friend to undertake the functions of best man — ” 


HER OWN DOING. 


109 


“Good-night,” said Staunton, cutting short this 
address unceremoniously, and turning on his 
heel. 

“ Good-night, my dear Staunton, good-night. 
May we meet again, under still more auspicious cir- 
cumstances, ere long !” 

The man with the gray beard had been hovering, 
unobserved, in the neighborhood during this brief 
conversation, and had seized a few words of it. As 
soon as Staunton was out of sight, he advanced to 
the still smiling Jarvis, raised his hat, and said, in 
deliberate, level accents which betrayed his transat- 
lantic origin, “Excuse me, sir, but is the name of the 
gentleman who has just left you Staunton or Lord 
Charles Templeton 

Jarvis, a good deal taken aback, fixed what he in- 
tended for a haughty stare upon the intruder, and 
twirled his mustache. 

“ The gentleman who has just left me, sir,” replied 
he, “is Mr. Staunton.” 

“ So I have been surprised to hear him called by 
you. A year ago, however, unless I am much mis- 
taken, he was Lord Charles Templeton.” 

“ I imagine,” returned Jarvis, “ that you are much 
mistaken. Yery much mistaken.” 

“ In that case, sir, it is my painful duty to inform 


110 


HER OWN DOING. 


you that you have been imposed upon by a swindler. 
I do not blame you ; I myself, who ought to have 
been less easily deceived than most people, was 
taken in by him last winter at Florence, where 
he passed himself off as the nobleman whom I have 
mentioned.” 

“You do not seem to be aware,” observed Jarvis, 
loftily, “that Lord Charles Templeton is not a no- 
bleman.” 

“ I confess that I was not aware of it. I am an 
American, and, therefore, deplorably ignorant. I 
was under the impression that a lord was a noble- 
man ; but your friend, at all events, is neither. I 
think he mentioned Cannes to you as his destina- 
tion ? Probably he has been preying upon society 
in that place, and I shall make it my business to 
follow and expose him.” 

This was sad hearing for Mr. Jarvis, who saw his 
prospect of a comfortable annuity becoming gravely 
compromised, and who could think of nothing bet- 
ter to say than, “ Pardon me, Mr. Staunton is now 
on his way to Genoa.” 

“ I assure you,” returned the stranger, quite un- 
moved, “that I distinctly heard him state that he 
proposed to catch the 8.30 train for Cannes. I was 
in hopes that you might be able to oblige me with 


HER OWN DOING. 


Ill 


his address; but that is of little consequence. I 
anticipate no difficulty in discovering him.” 

“Now, my dear sir,” remonstrated Jarvis, “is it 
likely that you know my friend’s plans better than 
I do ? And even if you are right, and I misunder- 
stood what he told me as to his destination, how 
very foolish you will look when you bring this 
charge against him, and it turns out that you have 
discovered a mare’s nest! Mr. Staunton is a gen- 
tleman of good family, as everybody knows, and he 
is first cousin to Lord Bellingham.” 

“ That may be so,” replied the other, calmly ; 
“ but I suppose it is possible for a lord to be so 
unfortunate as to have a swindler for his cousin. 
If the suggestion shocks you, I will ask you to ex- 
cuse it on the score of my ignorance. Being, as I 
have said, an American, I am not very well ac- 
quainted with the proprieties and privileges of an 
aristocracy ; but I am pretty well acquainted with 
Mr. Staunton, and if it would interest you to see 
how he looks when he is brought face to face with 
Mr. Howland, of New York, I shall be very happy 
to have you accompany me to Cannes.” 

Mr. Jarvis, however, did not think fit to accept 
this offer. He wagged his head mournfully, and 
said : “ If your suspicions are correct, Mr. Howland, 


112 


HER OWN DOING. 


it would be in the last degree painful to me to 
witness the disgrace of one whom I have hitherto 
both liked and respected. But I must still venture 
to hope that the case is one of mistaken identity. 
Good-evening to yon.” 

And thereupon he retired somewhat hastily. The 
truth was that it was not diflScult to frighten Mr. 
Jarvis, whose habits had for many years been such 
as are scarcely conducive to steadiness of nerve, and 
who did not relish the prospect of being pilloried 
as Staunton’s confederate. Only some hours later, 
while he was ruminating dolefully in bed over the 
mischance which had occurred, did it strike him 
that this might yet be turned to some profitable 
account. Since Staunton could not be saved, why 
should he not be denounced? The informer’s part, 
if not a very noble, can easily be made a lucrative 
one, and doubtless Mrs. Lindsay would be willing 
to pay handsomely for information which should 
rescue her from becoming an impostor’s wife. He 
calculated that, by starting for Cannes on the fol- 
lowing morning, he would get a clear twenty-four 
hours’ advantage of Mr. Howland, whose investiga-i 
tions were likely to take up some little time, and 
could hardly bring about an immediate bursting of 
the bubble. 


HER OWN DOING. 


113 


“ And 80,” thought he, with a chuckle, “ I shall 
not only turn an honest penny for myself, but score 
off that infernal officious Yankee. I am sorry for 
poor Staunton’s disappointment ; but I remember 
that he was extremely rude to me this evening. 
Besides, his was a nefarious career. Upon second 
thoughts. I’m not sorry for him, after all.” 

With which comfortable conclusion Mr. Jarvis 
turned over and went to sleep. 

8 . 


CHAPTEE IX: 


These was one eventuality upon which the astute 
Jarvis had not counted, and could scarcely be ex- 
pected to count. Mr. Howland’s manner had be- 
trayed no sign of such feverish haste as would be 
implied by his taking the ten-o’clock train to Cannes 
that same night. Nevertheless, being a man of 
business, and one who knew the value of time, that 
was what he did ; and thus it came to pass that at 
an early hour next morning he had found out all 
that he had anticipated hearing, and a little more 
into the bargain. 

Chance caused him to put up at the very hotel 
in which Staunton was sojourning ; a glance at the 
strangers’ book made him aware of that circum- 
stance; and the result of a few casual questions 
addressed by him to the landlord over a matutinal 
cigar was that Arthur Brooke, who was lingering at 
breakfast, and debating whether or not he should 
accept an invitation to luncheon which had just 
reached him from his cousin, was surprised by the 


HER OWN DOING. 


116 


entrance of an elderly stranger of benevolent aspect 
and self-possessed manners. 

“ How do you do, Captain Brooke ?” the stranger 
said. “ Allow me to introduce myself. My name 
is Howland, and I have been for many years en- 
gaged in business in Hew York city, where I had 
occasion to make the acquaintance of one Staunton, 
who is, I believe, identical with the person of that 
name said to be now engaged to be married to a 
relation of yours. Thinking that you might be in- 
terested in hearing of a certain episode in the life 
of that person, I have taken the liberty to call upon 
you.” 

Arthur^s eyes glistened with satisfaction. ‘‘ Pray 
sit down, Mr. Howland,” said he. ‘‘ Any informa- 
tion that you can give me about Mr. Staunton will 
be most welcome.” 

“Well,” answered Mr. Howland, seating himself, 
“ the information that I have to give you about Mr. 
Staunton is not to his advantage; but maybe it 
will be none the less welcome on that account. I 
know he is an impostor, and, if he is the man that I 
believe him to be, he is also a thief.” 

“ I was sure of it !” exclaimed Arthur, involun- 
tarily. 

“ That he was a thief ?” 


116 


HER OWN DOING. 


“ No ; that he was an impostor. It’s much the 
same thing. But don’t let me interrupt you. You 
were saying that you made his acquaintance in New 
York?” 

‘‘ Yes, sir. It is something over a dozen years 
ago that he was taken into our employment as clerk, 
his age being then, I should say, about eighteen or 
nineteen. Where he came from I can’t tell you, ex- 
cept that he was a Canadian ; perhaps we are rather 
less particular about past character in America than 
you are over here. We are apt to judge of a man 
by his capability, and young Staunton’s business ca- 
pabilities were considerable. He was a smart lad ; he 
had opportunities of rendering us some valuable ser- 
vices; and, as a reward, he was promoted to a post 
of greater confidence than would have been open, 
in the ordinary course of things, to so young a man. 
I need not weary you with details ; it is sufficient 
to say that an occasion presented itself when he was 
intrusted with a very large sum of money on behalf 
of the firm. Whether this was what he had been 
trying for all along, or whether, as was represented 
on his side at the trial, he gave way to an over- 
whelming temptation, is immaterial. He made off 
for Canada with that money, sir, disguised as a wom- 
jip, and oply captured after a very daring at- 


HER OWN DOING. 


in 


tempt at escape. The detectives arrested him in the 
cars, and he contrived to break away from them and 
jump clear out on to the track. I suppose, if he had 
been an honest man, he must have been killed ; as 
it was, his injuries were found to be comparatively 
trifling. His counsel made a good deal of capital 
out of the incident, pointing out that he had pre- 
ferred death to dishonor, and so forth ; and though 
the court said that wasn’t relevant, I guess it was 
taken into consideration when sentence was passed. 
He had to serve a pretty fair terra of imprisonment 
with hard labor, though.” 

“ And are you sure that this is the same man ?” 
asked Arthur, eagerly. 

“ Yes, sir, I am sure ; but I wouldn’t affirm it on 
oath. I recognized him last night at the gaming- 
tables at Monte Carlo ; but it wasn’t just at first that 
I recognized him as being my old clerk Staunton.” 

Arthur stared. ‘‘ Do you mean that you recog- 
nized him as being somebody else, then ?” he in- 
quired. 

‘‘ Just so. I will explain. When I went to Flor- 
ence last spring, I found everybody talking about a 
young man of the name of Lord Charles Templeton, 
who had been spending the winter there, and had 
been taken into high favor, it appeared, by the so- 


HER OWN DOING. 


il8 

ciety of the place, both native and foreign. He be- 
haved like a man of fortune, entertained pretty free- 
ly, made himself particularly agreeable to the ladies,, 
and enjoyed quite a reputation for talent. I saw 
him twice — once at a ball and once at the races in 
the Cascine, where he ran a horse, and didn’t seem 
to care much whether it won or lost — and I am 
ashamed to say that I no more suspected him of be- 
ing Staunton than of being Lorenzo the Magnificent. 
Shortly after I left I heard that he had vanished, 
leaving all his bills unpaid, and having borrowed 
money from most of his acquaintances. In process 
of time some of them heard that the real Lord Charles 
Templeton had never left England that winter, and 
then it seems to have dawned upon them that they 
had been swindled. Well, sir, I had matters of 
greater personal interest to occupy my attention, 
and I thought no more about this man until last 
night, when I went to have a look at the gambling 
at Monte Carlo, and saw him winning money as fast 
as he could pull it in. I knew him at once, though 
he had shaved off the fair beard which he wore when 
he was Lord Charles, and had dyed his hair black. 
The change made him look some years younger, and 
I suppose it was seeing his face without any hair 
about it that set me wondering why it should seem 


HER OWN DOING. 


119 


go familiar to me. After I had watched him for 
some time, it suddenly flashed across me who he 
was. When he left the rooms with a friend, I fol- 
lowed him out into the garden, where I heard his 
friend call him Staunton ; and as he mentioned that 
he was leaving immediately for Cannes, I thought I 
could do no better thaa pack up and pursue him by 
the next train.’’ 

“ And did you really come here to warn us of our 
danger?” asked Arthur. “We are extremely in- 
debted to you, Mr. Howland.” 

“ Don’t mention it, sir. I came here to fulfil a 
public duty ; I was quite unaware until this morn- 
ing that there was any project of a marriage be- 
tween this scoundrel and an unsuspecting lady. I 
am sorry to find that such is the case, but glad that 
I have arrived in time to avert the catastrophe.” 

Arthur paused for a few seconds. He could not 
but rejoice at the confirmation of his suspicions; but 
he was generous enough to feel for poor Beatrice, 
whose humiliation, he knew, would be only less com- 
plete than that of her unprincipled suitor, and whom 
he was anxious to spare, so far as might be possible. 

“ I must tell you, Mr. Howland,” said he, “ that 
my cousin has been thoroughly imposed upon, and 
that your unsupported assertion may not be suffi- 


120 


HER OWN DOING. 


cient to convince her. You yourself say that you 
could not swear to the man’s identity. Staunton, 
too, is a cool-headed fellow. You may be sure that 
he will have presence of mind enough to laugh at 
the statement that he is an impostor and a thief.” 

“ I take it,” answered Mr. Howland, “ that the 
chief thing is to induce your cousin to postpone her 
marriage — she must be strangely infatuated if she 
declines to do that — and I can easily furnish you 
with the addresses of several people who were in 
Florence last year, and who will be able to say 
whether Mr. Staunton is identical with the soi-disant 
Lord Charles Templeton. As for his being identi- 
cal with my former clerk, I would willingly swear 
to that if I could contrive to get a glimpse of his 
right fore-arm. In his leap from the cars he in- 
flicted wounds upon that part of his person of which 
he will undoubtedly bear the traces to his dying 
day.” 

‘‘If that is all,” answered Arthur, to whom a 
bright idea suggested itself at this moment, “I 
think I can arrange it. I am going to luncheon 
to-day at my cousin’s, where Staunton is sure to be 
of the party. Will you allow me to take you with 
me, and introduce you as a friend of mine? I can 
promise you a welcome.” 


HER OWN DOING. 


121 


Mr. Howland replied that nothing would give 
him greater pleasure. 

“ Then we will consider that settled,” said Arthur. 
“Please do not seem to recognize Staunton until I 
give you a hint. Of course he will recognize you; 
but he is not likely to betray himself, and it will 
be impossible for him to retreat. It is just upon 
the cards that there may be a scuffle; but if you 
and I can’t manage him between us he must be a 
more powerful fellow than he looks.” 

Mr. Howland, who was tall and broad-chested, 
smiled. “ I guess we shall be able to manage him, 
sir,” said he, quietly. 

Mrs. Lindsay took the arrival of her uninvited 
guest as a matter of course, and received him with 
the amiability which she was accustomed to show 
to all guests. During Arthur’s stay at Cannes more 
than one friend of his had passed through the place, 
and had been introduced by him to the hospitality 
of the Yilla des Chataigniers ; so that no apology 
or explanation was required in the present instance. 
But Mrs. Yane, who was sitting in the drawing- 
room when the two men entered, and whose inquis- 
itive mind never accepted anything as a matter of 
course, saw at once that Mr. Howland did not be- 
long to the class from which Captain Brooke’s friends 
were usually recruited. 


122 


HER OWN HOING. 


‘‘ Who, what, and why ?” she whispered, concise- 
ly, as soon as she found an opportunity of drawing 
Arthur aside. 

“ A New York merchant, a savior of society upon 
a small scale, and brought here for reasons which 
will shortly appear,” he replied. 

‘‘ Do you mean to say that you have found a man 
who can help us ?” 

“Possess your soul in patience, and in due time 
you shall see what you shall see,” answered Arthurj 
oracularly. Perhaps he was not sorry to be able to 
show his clever coadjutor that she was not the only 
person who could achieve a couj^ de thrive upon 
occasion. 

Before Mrs. Yane had time to make any rejoin- 
der Staunton was announced. Arthur, watching him 
intently, could not help admiring the man’s perfect 
self-command. Mr. Howland must have been about 
the last person in the world whom he expected, and 
certainly the last whom he desired, to meet; yet his 
discomposure was so slight and so momentary that 
no one who had not been on the lookout for some- 
thing of the kind would have detected it. He did 
not start, but only paused for one second ; then 
advanced quickly, apologizing to Mrs. Lindsay for 
being late, and placing himself, as usual, with his 


HER OWN DOING. 


128 


back to the light. His introduction to the supposed 
stranger was effected without the slightest sign of 
recognition on either side ; immediately after which 
the whole party adjourned to the dining-room. 

During luncheon, the burden of keeping up con- 
versation was sustained chiefly by Mr. Howland and 
Mrs. Vane. Mr. Staunton seemed less desirous of 
putting himself forward than usual, and Arthur ob- 
served that his eyes kept returning again and again, 
as if involuntarily, to the face of the American, 
whose bland, deliberate utterances were addressed 
impartially to each of the company in turn. 

“ Did you ever visit the United States, Mr. Staun- 
ton he inquired, after a time, in the tone of one 
who asks a question not so much for the sake of 
getting an answer as of giving his interlocutor 
something to talk about. 

‘‘Oh, yes, frequently,” answered Staunton. “In 
fact, I have visited most parts of the world.” 

“I once,” remarked Mr. Howland, pensively, 
“ knew a young Englishman or Canadian of your 
name ; but our relations were not of the most agree- 
able kind.” ' 

“ In that case,” said Staunton, laughing, “ I trust 
he was no connection of mine.” 

“I trust not, indeed; for he robbed my firm of 


124 


HER OWN DOING. 


a large sum of money, and I have heard that since 
he came out of prison he has been living by his 
wits, and passing himself off under various aliases 
as a man of fortune.” 

Mrs. Yane pricked up her ears, and Staunton, 
though maintaining an air of smiling indifference, 
turned a shade paler; but Mr. Howland, as though 
suddenly remembering that his remarks might be 
disagreeable, hastened to add : 

“ Of course, this man can have had nothing what- 
soever to do with you, sir. Indeed, he did not look 
like you. He was a light-haired, fair-complexioned 
youth at the time that I knew him. He must be a 
man of thirty or more now, if he is still alive.” 

Staunton laughed again. “Let us hope that he 
is dead,” said he. “ I should be sorry to think that 
I had such a disreputable namesake going about the 
world.” 

Mrs. Lindsay looked slightly annoyed. She 
thought Mr. Howland might very well have kept 
that reminiscence to himself, and the many insinu- 
ations which had been made against her future hus- 
band caused her to feel convinced that both Arthur 
and Mrs. Yane would at once try to trace some 
connection between him and the criminal alluded 
to. She changed the subject, and soon rose from 


HER OWN DOING. 


125 


her seat, after glancing interrogatively at Mrs. 
Yane.’’ 

That lady was on the tiptoe of joyous expecta- 
tion. She could not do otherwise than obey her 
hostess’s invitation ; but she obeyed it with some 
reluctance, knowing that, in that house, it was the 
custom for the men to linger in the dining-room or 
the conservatory and smoke a cigarette with their 
coffee. At the door she turned back, and threw an 
appealing glance at Arthur, which he rightly inter- 
preted to mean, ‘‘For pity’s sake, let me be in at 
the death !” but he made no responsive signal. In- 
deed, he did not intend that she should witness the 
overthrow of the enemy; for he could devise no 
means of enabling her to do so without including 
his cousin also among the spectators, and his chief 
wish now was that Beatrice should experience no 
distress which could be avoided. 

For Staunton, however, he felt neither sympathy 
nor compassion, and as soon as the door had closed 
behind the ladies he drew a long breath of satisfac- 
tion, saying to himself, “Now for it !” 


CHAPTEK X. 


The luncheon party had not been graced by the 
presence of Miss Violet Brooke. ‘‘Arthur can eat 
and drink with Mr. Staunton if he chooses,” she had 
said, shortly after her sister’s engagement was an- 
nounced. “ I don’t think it is very honest of him, 
because he hates the man just as much as I do ; still, 
if he chooses to do it he can. But I will not.” 

And to this determination she had held inexora- 
bly, in spite of all that her sister could urge. 
As often as Mr. Staunton was invited, or invited 
himself, to break bread at the Villa des Chatai- 
gniers, so often did Violet express her intention of 
eating her own luncheon or dinner in company with 
Hopkins, a faithful old servant, who, as she was 
wont to declare, was the only rational person left in 
the house. By which she meant that Hopkins was 
the only person who would listen without protesta- 
tion to wholesale abuse of Mr. Staunton. 

Upon the day to which the course of this narra- 
tive has now brought us Violet lunched with Hop- 


HER OWN DOING. 


12V 


kins as usual, and, as usual, solaced herself by the 
delivery of some trenchant criticisms upon her fut- 
ure brother-in-law. Then, having ascertained that 
the subject of her remarks was still in the dining- 
room, and likely to be there for some time longer, she 
whistled to Snap, and strolled out into the garden. 
She had not taken many steps when Snap, that un- 
erring judge of character, announced, by cocking his 
ears and uttering a low growl, that he espied a per- 
son of suspicious aspect, and immediately afterwards, 
unable to contain himself, he burst into a volley of 
barks, and dashed, full speed, down the avenue, at a 
very fashionably dressed gentleman, who turned and 
fled precipitately, picking up a stone as he ran. 

Yiolet called the dog in, and beckoned, somewhat 
imperiously, to the intruder. 

“ You need not be so much alarmed,” she said ; 

Snap will not bite you so long as I am here ; but 
you are very much mistaken if you think he is the 
kind of dog to be driven away with a stone.” 

I apologize,” answered the stranger, with a bow 
and a grin. “ I was quite wrong ; and your dog was 
quite right in assuming me to be a trespasser. May 
I,” he added, insinuatingly, “ push my trespass a 
stage further, and beg for a few minutes’ audience 
from Mrs. Lindsay ?” 


128 


HER OWN DOING. 


“ I don’t think my sister will see you,” answered 
Yiolet, curtly, for the man’s manner struck her as 
somewhat offensive. “ She has people at luncheon.” 

Mr. Jarvis’s countenance fell. Time was of im- 
portance, and he could not afford to go away and 
call again on the morrow. I feel sure,” said he, 
“ that Mrs. Lindsay would receive me if she knew 
the nature of the communication which, unhappily, 
it is my duty to make to her. It refers to the gen- 
tleman — or, perhaps, I ought rather to say to the 
man — calling himself Mr. Staunton.” 

“What!” exclaimed Yiolet, in unconcealed de- 
light ; “ is Mr. Staunton not Mr. Staunton, then ? I 
knew already that he was not a gentleman.” 

“ I am sorry to say,” replied Jarvis, solemnly, 
“that he is neither. In fact, not to mince matters, 
he is an arrant rogue, who has shamefully deceived 
not only your sister, but many other persons, my- 
self included. Last winter he called himself Lord 
Charles Templeton, and took in the whole society 
of Florence ; this year, as you are aware, he has se- 
lected Cannes as his field for operations, and has 
given himself out as a cousin of Lord Bellingham’s, 
with whom, I need hardly tell you, he is in no way. 
connected.” 

Yiolet drew in her breath. She was sharp enough 


HER OWN DOING. 


129 


to percdve that the individual who addressed her 
was not one of those witnesses whose word is suffi- 
cient to carry conviction with it, nor did he look as 
though any action of his was likely to be prompted 
by motives of pure benevolence. ‘‘ I suppose,” said 
she, that you can prove the truth of what you say. 
If you can’t you won’t be believed.” 

Mr. Jarvis tapped his breast-pocket lightly. ‘‘ I 
have proofs here,” he replied, ‘‘ which cannot be 
disputed.” Tfien — for it was no time for false del- 
icacy — he sighed, and added, ‘‘Unfortunately, I am 
not able to surrender these proofs without some 
equivalent. What that equivalent shall be I leave 
entirely to Mrs. Lindsay’s generosity to decide, only 
mentioning that I am a poor man, and that the loss 
of the three hundred pounds of which this miscreant 
has robbed me has left me almost a pauper for the 
time being. Of course, I cannot expect that the 
full extent of my losses should be made' good ; 
but—” 

“ Make your mind quite easy,” interrupted Vio- 
let, with superb contempt ; “ we will pay. If the 
proofs are genuine they are well worth three hun- 
dred pounds. Please come into the house, Mr. — 
You haven’t told me your name.” 

^‘Jarvis,” answered' the other, endeavoring, not 

9 


130 


HER OWN DOING. 


very successfully, to conceal the delight with which 
Miss Brooke’s indifference to expense filled him. 
^‘Perhaps, as Mrs. Lindsay has friends with her, I 
had better wait for her here. You might kindly 
mention that you had left me in the garden.” 

But Violet had already stepped through the open 
window into the drawing-room, which her sister and 
Mrs. Vane had just entered. “Beatrice,” said she, 
“ here is a Mr. Jarvis, whose pocket is bursting with 
proofs that Mr. Staunton is a sham from the crown 
of his head to the soles of his feet. You can hear all 
about it for tliree hundred pounds.” 

Mr. Jarvis, a little embarrassed by this succinct 
account of himself and his business, advanced into 
the room, bowing to the two astonished ladies, and 
expressed his sorrow at being the bearer of evil tid- 
ings. “Nevertheless,” said he, “it is a consolation 
to me to think that I am not too late to unmask a 
heartless scoundrel.” 

He then proceeded to unfold his indictment, to 
which Mrs. Lindsay listened with mingled disgust 
and incredulity. Hardly, however, had he begun to 
touch upon the delicate point of compensation when 
he was interrupted by a loud crash, as of falling 
furniture, proceeding from the next room, followed 
by a confused sound of voices and a shuffling of 


HER OWN DOING. 


131 


feet, which seemed to show that a struggle of some 
kind was going on. 

This was more than Mrs. Yane could endure. 
She jumped up, darted to the folding-doors which 
led to the dining-room, flung them open, and, glanc- 
ing back over her shoulder at Jarvis, said, ironically, 
“ Too late, my good sir ! While you have ,been so 
obligingly calling out ‘ Stop thief !’ other people have 
intervened and stopped him.” 

The tableau revealed by Mrs. Yane undoubtedly 
pointed to that conclusion, and the manner in which 
it had been brought about may now be briefly 
stated. 

No sooner had the ladies left the luncheon-table 
than Arthur, returning to his place, remarked, in an 
unusually amicable tone, ‘‘ Do you know, Staunton, 
Mr. Howland hasn’t yet got rid of the old-fashioned 
notion that we English are a sober and serious race. 
If he saw us in our convivial moments he would 
change his opinion, wouldn’t he ?” 

“ I suppose so,” answered Staunton ; but wheth- 
er we show to advantage in our convivial moments 
is an open question. Personally, I think the mod- 
ern young Englishman at such times rather a 
bore.” 

^‘He doesn’t think you a bore, though ; he looks 


132 


HER OWN DOING. 


upon you as a boon companion — and small blame to 
him ! I never saw any one enter into the spirit of 
the thing with more zest than you did the other 
night, when Bellingham was here.” 

Staunton shrugged his shoulders. “When one is 
at Eome, you know — ” said he. “ I think I remem- 
ber telling you at the time that I had not played 
the fool for my own amusement.” 

“Well, at any rate, you gave a great deal of 
amusement to others ; and really the game of Spoof 
is a capital game. I should like to introduce Mr. 
Howland to it. Mr. Howland, wouldn't you like to 
learn the game of Spoof ?” 

Mr. Howland gravely bowed his head in sign of 
acquiescence. 

“Then,” said Arthur, briskly, “I’ll show it to 
you. One of us — Staunton, Jet us say — marks, and 
the others each lay him five pounds to one. The 
way the game works will explain itself as we go on. 
It begins by one of us claiming some article of at- 
tire from him. For example, I claim his coat. 
Take off your coat, Staunton.” 

“What in the world are you driving at?” asked 
Staunton, who was really mystified. 

“You’ll see in a minute. Give me your coat; 
I’ll promise not to run away with it.” And, with 


HER OWN DOING. 


133 


some mild application of force, Arthur managed to 
possess himself of the garment in question. “ It is 
now your turn to claim something, Mr. Howland,” 
said he. 

“Well, sir,” replied Mr. Howland, with a twinkle 
in his eye, “ I guess it will be sufficient for my pur- 
pose if I claim the gentleman’s right shirt-sleeve.” 

Enlightened by this significant demand, Staunton 
started up, setting his teeth firmly, and clutched at 
the coat which Arthur had laid down by his side. 
But the others were too quick for him. Before he 
could make a second movement he was gripped on 
each side by a man heavier than himself, and, after 
a tussle, in the course of which a chair was over- 
turned and Staunton himself was thrown to the 
ground, his sleeve was forcibly rolled up, and a 
white scar, running the whole length of his fore- 
arm, was made visible. 

“ That will do,” said Mr. Howland. “ George 
Staunton, you may throw up your cards; you’re 
over-trumped all round, sir.” 

It was at this juncture that Mrs. Yane, followed 
closely by Beatrice and Violet, and at a somewhat 
safer distance by Mr. Jarvis, appeared upon the 
scene. Staunton, pale and panting, had risen from 
the floor and was putting on his coat ; Mr. How- 


134 


HER OWN DOING. 


land, a little heated by the fray, was wiping his 
forehead with his handkerchief ; Arthur, who had 
not anticipated quite so striking a denouement^ 
looked slightly abashed. For a few seconds no one 
spoke. It was Mrs. Lindsay who broke the si- 
lence. 

‘‘ Arthur,” she gasped, “ what is it ? What is the 
matter 

Staunton took upon himself to reply. ‘‘I am as 
much in the dark as you are,” he began ; but stopped 
short, having caught sight of Jarvis’s wide-open eyes 
and waxed mustache in the background. He per- 
ceived at once that his former employer was right, 
and that it only remained for him to throw up his 
cards. “ Brutus too !” he said, with a faint smile, 
and, passing swiftly through the group, no member 
of which attempted to bar his way, disappeared. A 
minute later the front door was heard to slam be- 
hind him. 

“ Is he to be allowed to make his escape like this. 
Captain Brooke?” asked Mr. Howland. 

He shall be helped to escape, if necessary,” re- 
plied Arthur, quietly. Then, drawing nearer to his 
cousin, “ Go up-stairs, Beatrice,” he whispered, “ un- 
til I get rid of these people. I will tell you all 
about it afterwards.” 


HER OWN DOING. 


136 


She obeyed without demur, and, indeed, without 
reluctance. It was her nature to obey ; and if Ar- 
thur had realized that a little sooner, he would never 
have been put to the painful necessity of causing a 
fracas in her house. The first thing that she did, 
on reaching her bedroom, was to sit down and cry ; 
but assuredly it was not over the loss of Mr. Staun- 
ton that she wept. She had liked the man, and had 
believed in him ; but she had never loved him, and 
had more than once secretly repented of the mo- 
mentary rashness which had led her to accept his 
offer. Her one wish now was to escape from Cannes 
as speedily as might be, and hide herself. She felt 
that she would never be able to hold up her head 
again, and that the remainder of her life must be 
passed in strict seclusion. She was still engaged 
upon a melancholy scheme for her future manner of 
existence when a tap at the door was followed by 
the entrance of Mrs. Vane. 

“ Beatrice, my dear,” said that lady, dry your 
eyes and go down to the drawing-room, where you 
will find Arthur Brooke ready to implore your for- 
giveness for having saved you from yourself. The 
coast is clear. Mr. Howland has discreetly with- 
drawn, after begging me to make his adieux and ex- 
press his thanks to you for your hospitality ; and 


136 


HER OWN DOING. 


the estimable Jarvis has been dismissed with an in- 
timation that any future demands on his part will 
expose him to the risk of being kicked. Only Ar- 
thur remains. You must try to show a little gen- 
erosity, and not be too hard upon the poor fellow, al- 
though he has been in the right from first to last. 
It is provoking, I admit; but it isn’t a reason for 
trampling upon him.” 

“It is a great deal more likely,” answered Mrs. 
Lindsay, dejectedly, “that he will trample upon me. 
If he does, I shall be speechless ; I haven’t a word 
to say for myself. All this has been my own doing, 
and I have only my own stupidity and obstinacy to 
thank.” 

“ Then don’t be stupid and obstinate any more,” 
returned Mrs. Yane. “ A little of that sort of thing 
is all very well — especially when an opportune How- 
land or Jarvis steps in at the eleventh hour to save 
the situation ; but, as one can’t count upon such in- 
terventions being repeated, I think you and Arthur 
had better make up your minds to be happy to- 
gether. The stupidity and obstinacy haven’t been 
entirely upon your side, after all. There ! I have 
spoken 1 How good-bye ; and if you have any good 
news to communicate to me to-morrow, I shall be 
glad to hear from you.” 


HER OWN DOING. 


137 


The good news to which Mrs. Yane alluded did 
not reach her on the morrow ; nor, perhaps, in as- 
signing so early a date did she allow quite sufficient 
time for two scrupulous and sensitive persons to ar- 
rive at a foregone conclusion. But, sooner or later, 
for all their windings, the rivers reach the sea, 
and before another spring had come and gone Mrs. 
Lindsay had become Mrs. Brooke. Her happiness 
since her marriage has not been clouded by any 
awkward encounter with Mr. Staunton, who van- 
ished from Cannes as abruptly as he had vanished 
from the Yilla des Chataigniers, and who has neither 
been seen nor heard of from that day to this, although 
more than one creditor is said to be keeping an anx- 
ious lookout for him. His fate remains a mystery ; 
but, since the world is wide and a fool is born every 
liour, there seems to be little ground for fear that a 
man of Mr. Staunton’s ingenuity will ever suffer 
want. 


THE END. 


W. E. NORRIS’S NOVELS. 


A discriminating public has lately become assured that Mr. Norris is a 
novelist from whom they have a right to expect much. Mr. Norris seems 
to have set out upon his literary career with the intention of writing slow- 
ly, perhaps not a great deal, and with an effort to be always at his best. — 
Independent^ N. Y. 

In humor and gentle pathos Mr. Norris shows resemblances to Trollope, 
lie has studied Trollope with advantage. He has caught Trollope’s genial 
manner in drawing people as they are. — Athenaeum, London. 

Mr. Norris’s very clever and delightful books are almost the sole sur- 
vival of the great period of English novels, and are a distinct boon to those 
readers whose taste was formed by Miss Austen and Thackeray. — Lippin- 
cotVs Magazine. 

A MAN OF ms WORD, and Other Stories. 4to, Paper, 
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THAT TERRIBLE MAN. 12 mo. Paper, 25 cents. 

THIRLBY HALL. Illustrated by W. Small. 4to, Paper, 25 
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CONSTANCE F. WOOLSON’S NOVELS 


EAST ANGELS. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

--ANNE. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

\FOR THE MAJOR. 16mo, Cloth, |1 00. 

CASTLE NOWHERE. 16rao, Cloth, |1 00. {A New 
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There is a certain bright cheerfulness in Miss Woolson’s writing which 
invests all her characters witl^ovable qualities. — Jewish Advocate, N. Y. 

Miss Woolson is among our few successful writers of interesting mag- 
azine stories, and her skill and power are perceptible in the delineation of 
her heroines no less than in the suggestive pictures of local life. — Jewish 
Messenger, N. Y. 

Constance Fenimore Woolson may easily become the novelist laureate. 
— Boston Globe. 

Miss Woolson has a graceful fancy, a ready wit, a polished style, and 
conspicuous dramatic power; while her skill in the development of a 
story is very remarkable. — London Life. 

Miss Woolson never once follows the beaten track of the orthodox nov- 
elist, but strikes a new and richly loaded vein which, so far, is all her 
own ; and thus we feel, on reading one of her works, a fresh sensation, 
and we put down the book with a sigh to think our pleasant task of read- 
ing it is finished. The author’s lines must have fallen to her in very 
pleasant places ; or she has, perhaps, within herself the wealth of woman- 
ly love and tenderness she pours so freely into all she writes. Such books 
as hers do much to elevate the moral tone of the day — a quality sadly 
wanting in novels of the time. — Whitehall Review, London. 


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MIGNON; OE, BOOTLES’S BABY. Illustrated. 16mo, Paper, 

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It is a light story of garrison life, with enough of a mystery to make it 
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It is just the kind of book to help one to pass a summer afternoon 
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sort. The story is well told. — Providence Telegram. 

SOUP -LA. Illustrated. 16mo, Paper, 25 cents. 

It is a pathetic story, and abounds in incident.— W. Y. Sun. 

A story of adventure, exciting situai^ns, strange scenes, odd charac- 
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A very amusing and, in its close, pathetic story of humble constancy and 
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m QUAETEES WITH THE 25TH (THE BLACK HOESE) 
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Well worth reading. . . . Written in a lively and forcible style, and is one 
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A MAH OF HOHOE. Illustrated. 16rao, Pape^25 cents. 

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AT THE RED GLOVE. 


A Novel. Illustrated by C. S. Reinhart, pp. 246. 
12mo, Extra Cloth, $1 50. 


We have tried to express our admiration of the brilliant talents which 
the “Red Glove” displays — the accurate knowledge shown of localities; 
the characteristics of the surrounding population, and the instinctive read- 
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A charming idyl. — W. Y. Mail and Express. 

The execution is admirable. . . . The characters are the clearest studies, 
and are typical of a certain phase of French life. . . . The story is fanciful, 
graceful, and piquant, and Reinhart’s illustrations add to its flavor. — Bos- 
ton Journal. 

The peculiar vivacity of the French style is blended with a subtle char- 
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duced for a long time. It is one of the most brilliant pieces of literary 
work that has appeared for years, and the interest is sustained almost 
breathlessly. — Boston Evening Traveller. 

The authoress of “ At the Red Glove ” knows how to paint a flesh-and- 
blood woman, grateful to all the senses, and respectable for the qualities 
of her mind and heart. . . . All in all, “ At the Red Glove ” is one of the 
most delightful of novels since Miss Woolson wrote “For the Major?’ — 
N. Y. Times. 

The novel is one of the best things of the summer as a delicious bit of 
entertainment, prepared with perfect art and presented without a sign of 
effort. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

It is an artistic and agreeable reproduction, in bright colors, of French 
sentiment and feeling. ... It is an abiding relief to read it, after such 
studies as novels in this country fashionably impose. — Boston Olobe. 

A charming little story. . . . The characters are well drawn, with fresh- 
ness and with adequacy of treatment, and the style is crisp and ofttimes 
trenchant. — Boston Advertiser. 

A very pretty story, simply and exquisitely told. . . . The ups and downs 
of the courtship are drawn with a master’s hand. — Cincinnati Inquirer. 

There has been no such pleasant novel of Swiss social life as this. . . . 
The book is one that tourists and summer idlers will do well to add to 
their travelling libraries for the season. — Philadelphia Bulletin. 


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UPON A CAST 


A l^ovel. By Charlotte Dunning, pp. 330. 16mo, 

Cloth, $1 00. 

It embodies throughout the expressions of genuine American frank- 
ness, is well conceived, well managed, and brought to a delightful 
and captivating close. — Albany Press. 

The author writes this story of American social life in an interest- 
ing manner, . . . The style of the writing is excellent, and the dia- 
logue clever. — N. T. Times. 

This story is strong in plot, and its characters are drawn with a 
firm and skilful hand. They seem like real people, and their acts 
and words, their fortunes and misadventures, are made to engage the 
reader’s interest and sympathy. — Worcester Daily Spy. 

The character painting is very well done. . . . The sourest cynic 
that ever sneered at woman cannot but find the little story vastly 
entertaining. — Commercial Bulletin, Boston. 

The life of a semi-metropolitan village, with its own aristocracy, 
gossips, and various other qualities of people, is admirably por- 
trayed. . . . The book fascinates the reader from the first page to 
the last. — Boston Traveller. 

The plot has been constructed with no little skill, and the charac- 
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a large number of readers. — Christian at Work, N. Y. 

One of the best — if not the very best — of the society novels of the 
season. — Detroit Free Press. 

Of peculiar interest as regards plot, and with much grace and 
freshness of style. — Brooklyn Times. 

The plot has been constructed with no little skill, and the characters 
— all of them interesting and worthy of acquaintance — are portrayed 
with great distinctness. — Episcopal Becoi'der, Philadelphia. 

A clever and entertaining novel. It is wholly social, and the 
theatre is a small one ; but the characters are varied and are drawn 
with a firm hand ; the play of human passion and longing is well- 
defined and brilliant ; and the movement is effective and satisfac- 
tory. . . . The love story is as good as the social study, making alto- 
^ther an uncommonly entertaining book for vacation reading. — 
Wilmington (Del.) Morning News. 


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THE BREAD-WINNERS. 

A Social Study. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 


One of the strongest and most striking stories of the last ten years. . . . 
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mor ; it sparkles with epigram ; it is brilliant with wit. . . . The chief 
characters in it are actually alive ; they are really flesh and blood ; they 
are at once true and new ; and they are emphatically and aggressively 
American. The anonymous author has a firm grip on American character. 
He has seen, and he has succeeded in making us see, facts and phases of 
American life which no one has put into a book before. . . . Interesting, 
earnest, sincere ; fine in its performance, and finer still in its promise. — 
Saturday Review^ London. 

A worthy contribution to that American novel-literature which is at the 
present day, on the whole, ahead of our own. — Pall Mall Gazette^ London. 

Praise, and unstinted praise, should be given to “ The Bread-Winners.” 
—N. Y. Times. 

It is a novel with a plot, rounded and distinct, upon which every episode 
has a direct bearing. . . . The book is one to stand nobly the test of im- 
mediate re-reading. — Critic^ N. Y. 

It is a truly remarkable book. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

As a vigorous, virile, well-told American story, it is long since we have 
had anything as good as “ The Bread-Winners.” — Philadelphia Bulletin. 

Every page of the book shows the practised hand of a writer to whom 
long use has made exact literary expression as easy and spontaneous as 
the conversation of some of those gifted talkers who are at once the 
delight and the envy of their associates. ... We might mention many 
scenes which seem to us particularly strong, but if we began such a 
catalogue we should not know where to stop. — N. Y. Tribune. 

Within comparatively few pages a story which, as a whole, deserves to 
be called vigorous, is tersely told. . . . The author’s ability to depict the 
mental and moral struggles of those who are poor, and who believe them- 
selves oppressed, is also evident in his management of the strike and in 
his delineation of the characters of Sam Sleeny, a carpenter’s journeyman, 
and Ananias Offit, the villain of the story. , . . The characters who bring 
into play and work out the author’s ideas are all well drawn, and their in- 
dividuality maintained and developed with a distinctness that shows inti- 
mate familiarity with the subject, as well as unquestionable ability in deal- 
jpg with it. — N. Y. Evening Telegram. 

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BEN-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST, 


Bv Lew. Wallace. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, 

Cloth, $1 50. 

Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this 
romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr. Wal- 
lace’s writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de- 
scribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
an accomplished master of style. — iV. V. Times. 

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we witness a sea- 
fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert ; pal- 
aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
families of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident; everything is 
animated, vivid, and glowing. — W. V. Tribune. 

From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader’s interest 
will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boston Post. 

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and there 
is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature^ etc., to greatly 
strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 

“Ben-Hur” is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is laid, 
and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
Antioch at the time of our Saviour’s advent. — Examiner^ N. Y. 

It is really Scripture history of Christ’s time clothed gracefully and 
delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . . Few late 
works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. Graphic. 

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
chapters of history. — Indianapolis Journal. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
and romance. — Bosto7i Journal. 


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HARPER’S WEEKLY FOE 1886. 


On the 2d of January, 1886, Harper’s Weekly entered upon the thirtieth year of 
its existence. The series of its "volumes justifies its title as “A Journal of Civiliza- 
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